The story of Cenahria
by LetAnOwlIn
Summary: This is the story of how a Night Elf druid named Cenahria, becomes exiled from her people, and meets Vol'jin, Chieftain of the Darkspear Tribe. Based on my own character in-game, this will follow both in-game events, as well as any adventures I can think of to add! This is the first of a trilogy of stories based on 3 of my in-game characters. This will be ongoing.
1. Chapter 1

It was a boring day for Vol'jin. Yet another day of wandering around Echo Isles, listening to petty problems. He didn't particularly care if Swiftclaw had escaped the penning area for the third time that week. Who did they think he was? He was their Chieftain, not their personal problem-solver. Vol'jin sighed, as he made his way back to his hut, where he held counsel, and communed with Thrall. It was a bright day, and the heat was getting to everyone. "Thrall needs to do something about dis heat, else we'll all melt away" The guards did their best to hide their sniggering. They failed. "Leave me be. I wish to talk with da spirits." Vol'jin sat in his chair, and began to clear his mind. Maybe the Loa would grant him some clarity today, and provide a glimpse of an apocalyptic future, a glimpse of some misfortune that he would have to prevent. Anything to get him away from the penning area.

He closed his eyes, and focussed on the feel of the wooden floor, and of the chair beneath him. His breathing became deeper, and he knelt to the floor. After some time, his mind began to clear, and soft voices began to whisper to him, so softly he couldn't understand them. He was used to this, however. It usually took some time before they became loud enough to understand. It was peaceful, meditating like this. Vol'jin relaxed himself completely, allowing the voices to draw him deeper into his meditation.

"CHIEFTAIN!" Vol'jin's eyes darted open and he sighed. If Swiftclaw had escaped _again_ …

"Chieftain! We are being attacked! Shall we execute the beast?" Vol'jin thought for a moment. This was certainly more exciting than the exploits of the raptors. And it _would_ be interesting to see which foul creature had found its way into the Isles. "Is it an attack? Are da Alliance here, at our gates?" The troll that had come barging in shook his head. "Nah, Chieftain. Just one beast. There might be more coming though." Making up his mind, Vol'jin stood, and prepared himself to look imposing and intimidating. "Bring da beast in." Vol'jin puffed himself up, and took hold of his ceremonial warspear. If this truly was an attack, he wanted to be ready.

It took some time, and a lot of commotion outside, before the doorway was darkened by a presence. Taking a deep breath, Vol'jin turned around to face the beast. Or, rather, the feline. The beast was a giant cat, a cat who was stood, almost patiently, between two of his guards. It had deep blue fur, and eyes that seemed to almost glow. Something about the eyes drew Vol'jin closer to the beast. "Be careful, mon. It might attack at any moment!" Vol'jin shook his head and knelt to look the cat in its eyes. There was an intelligence there that Vol'jin rarely saw in any of his tribe, let alone a creature. And the eyes belied something else too; this cat was terrified.

"This is not an ordinary beast. This be a druid." He smiled slightly at the look of shock that passed through those eyes. Dark fur bristled slightly, not as a warning, but in defence. It began to look around the room, studying the occupants. "It's not one of ours, mon. Should we kill it?" The eagerness to kill in the green eyes of his men did nothing to convince Vol'jin to kill the druid. Instead, he sat in front of it, eye to eye. "Let us have a look at ya, widout ya form. We won't kill ya, if ya can explain whatcha doin' on our land. Ya ain't troll, and ya ain't tauren. Which makes ya Alliance. Ya have my word – we won't kill ya. Yet." Stepping back, Vol'jin moved back to his chair, and sat down, as the creature transformed itself. Back straightening, limbs growing smaller. It looked painful, but Vol'jin had seen many of his tribe undergo the same. In a matter of seconds, the 'beast' had changed into… a girl. Or, rather, a young woman. A Night Elf. She remained seated, both knees together, and her head bent. The same midnight blue of the fur cascaded around her shoulders to the floor.

"An elf. Whatcha doin' on troll land? Ya have no business here! Is da Alliance plannin' an attack?" The elf shook her head, hair dancing across the floor. "Have ya no voice, elf? Speak! What's ya name?" The elf finally looked up, and those eyes drew him in, even from across the room. "My name is Cenahria. Yes, I am an elf, but I have been exiled by my people. I am an elf in looks alone." Now _that_ took Vol'jin by surprise. The elves seldom exiled anyone. This, Cenahria, must have done something terrible. "That does not explain whatcha doin' on our island. How did you come to be here?" Cenahria bowed her head again, in what looked to be shame. "I shamed my people. I desired knowledge, Chieftain. Knowledge they could not give me. And when I asked, they exiled me, and called me traitor. I come to your lands seeking to learn. I only wish to learn all that I can. Not to hurt anyone, but for the joy!" Her eyes lit up at the thought of it, but only briefly. "I am sorry to trespass. I understand if I must be killed. I fear no-one will take me in, not now."

Vol'jin stood, and bent to the floor, in what he hoped was a non-threatening pose. Anything to stop her shaking. "Can we kill it now, Chieftain? It said we could!" Vol'jin looked at his guards sharply, and shook his head. "Ya look tired, elf." She looked up at him, and cocked her head. She gazed at him for a moment, and gently nodded her head. "My guards will take ya to one of our huts. Ya can rest there, and we will talk more when ya wake." She looked at his guards, who had bent in a pose similar to his, albeit with a firmer grip on their weapons. "Da tribe will not allow it, Chieftain! Dis be an _elf_! Let us kill it and be done with it" The guard who had barged in earlier flexed his arms, whilst the other had the aura of magic around him. He was clearly preparing to cast something on the elf. "I am ya Chieftain! No harm will come to this elf; else I be havin' ya heads! And ya can tell da rest of da tribe dat too!" Gently, the elf stood, bowed her head once more. "You have my thanks, Chieftain. When shall I return?" "Rest first, and I shall send for ya. If ya get any trouble from any of the tribe, let me know and I'll deal with dem." Raising her head to meet his gaze, she smiled at him, before his guards escorted her out, muttering all the while.

Watching the elf walk away, Vol'jin returned to his chair, and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been raining, the day Cenahria had been banished. She had started her day, or rather, her night, by going to the library before lessons. Breathing in the musty scent of old books mixed with leaves, she explored rows upon rows of tomes. The library was housed within a huge oak, shelves spiralling around the inner trunk, as far as the eye could see. Cenahria loved the library. It gave her a sense of comfort. Grabbing the nearest book, she found a secluded corner and settled down. The tome read _The Art of Druidism_ but the author's name was too faded to make out. A rather hefty book, Cenahria rested it on her lap, and started to read. As a druid apprentice, Cenahria gravitated towards any book regarding nature. Her tutor, the great Malfurion, taught that meditation was key to learning the secrets of nature. He would take her and her fellow students out into the woods of Kalimdor for days at a time, asking them to sit and meditate among the trees, listening to their words. Cenahria had picked this up easily, and had often enjoyed the convoluted discussions that trees had. She hoped that one evening soon, Malfurion would set her a more challenging task.

Soon after she began reading, Cenahria began to realise that the book had not been written by a Night Elf. This book taught of meditating in a different way, to open the mind to more than just the voices of trees and plants. This book also spoke of the benefits of using druid magic in the daytime, something Malfurion had not yet discussed with his students. Intrigued, Cenahria delved deeper into the book.

"Cenahria! You're going to be late!" Cenahria looked up to find her friend, Havishna, rushing towards her, face etched with worry. Her friend had her bright, purple hair braided, as was the Elven fashion for younger elves. Standing, Cenahria replaced the book on its shelf, and made her way towards her friend. Havishna was always rushing, even when she had no place to be. The only time she was ever still was during meditation. "You haven't even brushed your hair! Quick, braid it whilst we walk to the Circle." Cenahria rolled her eyes. She hated braiding her hair. Stepping out into the moonlight, she ran her fingers through her dark hair, and gazed up at the moon…

Except it wasn't the moon above her, but a wooden ceiling. Cenahria sat up, and for a moment panicked. It came back to her, slowly. She had been dreaming of her last day with her people for several weeks, dreaming of ways it could have been different. She sighed, and looked around the room. When she had left her people, she had not been expecting to end up in the Echo Isles, and she had definitely not been expecting to survive such an encounter. She wondered how long she had been sleeping. Faint tendrils of moonlight poked their way through an animal skin that had been hung over the entrance, like a makeshift door. It was colder at night, and she shivered slightly. Moving closer to the door, she heard quiet voices.

"I don't understand why he won't just let us kill it. It's just an elf!" The first voice, a deep female voice. She did not sound happy. "Aye, Uyoga, but what can ya do? Vol'jin insisted we keep da elf alive." The second troll had a softer voice, which held less contempt for Cenahria than Uyoga's had. "Ya just interested in da elf 'cause she's a druid, like ya, Zaria." So the book had been right; Trolls also practiced druidism. This was a good start. Now if only she could find a way to convince their Chieftain to keep her alive. "And ya just jealous at da way Vol'jin been checking on her!" There was a small noise, like flesh hitting flesh, and a yelp from one of the voices. Cenahria hid a giggle, before processing what the troll had said. Their Chieftain had been checking up on her? "Ah Vol'jin just be lonely, Zaria. He lettin' his feelins cloud his judgment. He'll come to his senses soon enough." The voices faded, as the trolls walked away from the hut. She thought back to the morning, when she had first arrived. The Chieftain, Vol'jin, had seemed to sense that she was a druid, and had looked at her with curiosity, but nothing else. Maybe she should leave now, before he did indeed come to his senses and have her executed. Cenahria shook her head at the thought. She couldn't explain it, but she had a feeling the troll would keep to his word that no harm would come to her.

Cenahria stood, and stepped out into the moonlight. She was in a small encampment, with the Chieftain's hut up a small slope. To get there, she would have to walk past his tribe. Just standing in the doorway was beginning to attract the glares and mutters of the troll tribe, and to avoid any troll making the split decision to attack, she swiftly transformed into her feline form, and loped up to the lead troll's hut. She ignored the guttural noises that followed her, and only resumed her elven form when she had reached the steps to the Chieftain's hut. She suddenly stopped, feeling awkward. This troll could kill her at a moment's notice, for trespassing, and here she was, brazenly walking up to his front door! She turned, to go back, when the troll who had first found her stopped her. "Vol'jin be waitin' for ya. Go straight in." The troll turned and walked away, barely looking at her. Taking a deep breath, Cenahria pushed aside the animal skin, and entered the hut.

The hut was smokier than the last time she had been in it. A small fire burned in the centre of the hut, and the Chieftain was sat on the opposite side, chanting. She stepped further in, and studied him for a moment. The flames made the shadows on his azure skin dance, the flames melting into his red hair. The shadows of the flames made the painted face even more fearsome. And intriguing. "Welcome. Please, sit. Are ya feelin' better after some sleep?" He hadn't raised his head, but somehow she knew the troll had watched her study him. She walked to the fire, and sat opposite him, kneeling to the ground. "Yes, thank you. It was kind of you to let me rest before making any decisions." The Chieftain looked up at her finally, and she was shocked to find that the fierceness of his appearance didn't reach his eyes. He looked… thoughtful. Now she felt him studying her, and she sat silently, head bowed. "I told ya I wouldn't kill ya. When we last spoke, ya said ya came here for knowledge – what knowledge ya be seekin' and why come to us?" He listened patiently, as she explained about the book she had read before she had left her people.

"Malfurion is the best teacher, he is after all the first of our kind to learn the ways of the druid. I just. I feel like there is more. He teaches us to meditate, to listen to the trees. By our very nature, we are more at home at night. We can use our abilities during the day, but I feel we are missing potential by not embracing it fully. I left my people in search of someone who could teach me more about the druid ways. I have moved beyond meditating in a forest – I wish to learn about the powers and abilities of the druids. I wish to learn more about… about everything! I just wish to learn." Her voice had grown soft towards the end of her rant, and she bowed her head again in embarrassment. The troll Chief probably thought her addled in the brain. Too much sunlight for a creature of the night. He had watched her the entire time, and now he stood, moving to sit in the chair at the very back of the hut.

"Ya have caused a problem by comin' here. My tribe wish for me to kill ya, and if da Alliance find out ya here, dey will come lookin' for ya. Ya have given your people a good excuse to start a war on my kind." He paused as Cenahria looked at him, fear in her eyes. The elves would never come looking for her, but if they found out she had sought refuge with the Horde… The Chieftain smiled slightly, almost reassuringly. She cocked her head, and met his gaze. "But… Ya wish to learn. I have never seen such a passion before, not among my tribe, or anyone I've ever met. I agree witcha dat ya have not been shown the full possibilities of ya power, and dat not fair. Da limitations of ya elders should not impact da limitations ya set yaself. Dat is why I have decided dat if ya wish to stay and learn, I will find a troll who won't try to kill ya the first opportunity dey get." Cenahria's eyes widened in disbelief. He _wasn't_ going to kill her? He smiled, properly this time, at her reaction. "I'll let ya think on it. Go back to the hut ya rested in, and think about what ya want to do. Da offer will stand. Come back in da morning, if ya wish to start your studies." Cenahria stood, and made her way to the door, stopping for a moment to look over her shoulder at the Chieftain. "Thank you, Chieftain. I don't think it will take much for me to come to a decision. I will return in the morning. Thank you, for your generosity. I will not forget it. Goodnight." She met his gaze once more as he stared through the fire. "Sleep well, Cenahria. And please. Call me Vol'jin."


	3. Chapter 3

Vol'jin spent the night awake, in his hut, staring into the fire. He hadn't even tried to meditate since the arrival of Cenahria, and now he sat, pondering. He wasn't entirely sure _why_ he had made the offer for his people to teach her what they knew of druidism – he wasn't entirely sure any of them would agree to it. He just felt… drawn to her, in some way. Vol'jin sighed. All he knew was that he didn't want her to leave.

A small crackling came from behind him, with the smell of incense. He turned to face the small brazier at the back of his hut, and found Thrall watching him silently. "Hasn't anybody ever told ya not to sneak up on people in da middle of the night?" His friend smiled slightly, and Vol'jin smiled back. He rarely saw Thrall these days, and he missed his friend. "I'm sorry, Vol'jin. I didn't think you would still be awake. What's keeping you in here at this time of the night?" Thrall's voice was mellower than most orcs, but still carried a guttural ring. "I am just… thinkin', Thrall. We had a surprise visit dis mornin' and I'm not sure I'm making a good decision keepin' her alive." Thrall listened as Vol'jin explained the events of the day, leaving out his thoughts on Cenahria. "This elf is a druid you say? Exiled by her people? I knew the elves weren't particularly friendly with your kind, but exiling her for wishing to learn more? That seems a bit much… You have good judgement, however, Vol'jin. You would never endanger your people. If something is keeping you from killing her, there is likely a good reason for it." Vol'jin nodded. Thrall didn't need to know about the thoughts that had wound their way into his mind several times that evening; thoughts that were keeping him awake. They had absolutely nothing to do with his reluctance to kill her.

"I made her a promise to find someone to teach her. How do I convince da tribe to accept and teach an elf?" Thrall sat, thoughtfully silent, for a moment. "Have you called a meeting, of just the druids from your tribe? Explain to them the situation – as a fellow druid, they may be more sympathetic to her cause than the rest of the tribe. Get them on her side first, the rest will follow." Now that was a good idea. "Thanks, Thrall. Ya make sense, ya always do. I'll call a meeting in da mornin'. What did ya come here for, anyway? Ya didn't come here just to give me dat advice." Vol'jin listened, as Thrall briefly explained the new troubles facing the Horde. "A new leader is needed, Vol'jin, but, like you, I'm concerned my choice may not be as good as I could hope. I am going to name Garrosh Hellscream Warchief soon. I will need you, along with Baine and Sylvanas, to come to Orgrimmar, to meet him." Vol'jin felt ice trickle down his spine. Garrosh was well known for his blood lust, and thirst for war. This could cause many more problems with the Alliance, and cause much more bloodshed. But. If Thrall thought him the best choice, who was Vol'jin to disagree? "Very well, Thrall. Let me know when ya wish for me to travel to Orgrimmar." Thrall nodded, and swiftly departed from the smoke. Vol'jin looked outside, and could see the first fingers of sunlight bronzing the mountains in the distance. He had a long day ahead of him. Putting out the fire, Vol'jin made his way to his bed, and tried to rest as best he could.

The following day blistered – the heat was overpowering, making shimmering waves in the air. Despite this, Vol'jin was in a good mood. Cenahria had arrived early, agreeing to stay and learn from his tribe. He told her of his plan to discuss her training with the druid students first, and advised her to stay away from the other trolls, for the time being. "It may take some time before the tribe warm to ya bein' here. I'm sure dey will get used to it soon. Did ya want to stay while I talk to da druids, present ya own case to dem?" Cenahria tilted her head to the side, a thoughtful looking crossing her face, and he smiled to himself. "I think I would like to stay here while you talk to them, but I think it would be best if you explained my situation. They may be distrustful of anything I tell them. And anyway, it is much cooler in here than it is anywhere else."

For the first time, Vol'jin noticed beads of sweat making her skin glisten a dusky blue, and he resolved to find something cooler for her to wear. Studying her form, trying to figure out a rough measurement to give to the tailoring trolls, a faint heat rose to his face, and he decided to leave that to the seamstress. Cenahria had not seemed to notice his slight awkwardness, for which he was immensely glad. She was stood next to the brazier, gently prodding the ashes, as if to figure out what he had been doing the night before. He cleared his throat, and called for one of his guards. She jumped slightly, as if she had forgotten herself, and made to stand behind his chair. Sitting down, he told the guard to fetch the druids.

"Do you have many druids, among your people?" Cenahria stood behind the chair, almost awkwardly, and Vol'jin motioned for her to move closer. "Aye, we have a few. 5, maybe 6. We ain't a big tribe, though. Ya'd find more druids among da other tribes. But da few we have here are fierce warriors, and very powerful. Ya will learn much from dem." Cenahria bowed her head. "If they are willing to teach me, of course." Vol'jin suddenly felt sympathy for her plight. All she wanted to do was learn, but all she turned to for help, shunned her. "If my tribe do not agree to teach ya, I will send word to da other tribes, and to da Tauren Chieftain, if ya would like? I'll do my very best to help ya, in any way I can." She looked up at him, and her eyes said her thanks. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, and Vol'jin fought a sudden urge to brush them away. He turned, just as his guard led the druids into the room.

"Sit down, all of ya." The 6 trolls sat in a semi-circle in front of his seat, eyeing Cenahria. She moved behind his chair again, hiding herself. "Ya all know of our guest dat arrived yesterday. Dis is Cenahria, she is an elf, who has been exiled by her people." The trolls looked from Vol'jin, back to Cenahria, with a mixture of contempt, curiosity and compassion. He was glad to see that the bloodlust was not as strong as it had been with his guards the previous day. Thrall's plan might actually work. Vol'jin briefly explained Cenahria's plight, and as he talked, he felt the atmosphere of the room change. By the end, the trolls were looking at Cenahria with sympathy, instead of hatred, and Cenahria herself had even stepped out from behind the chair to stand next to him. "I understand that you may all hate me. My kind have never been friendly towards you, and for that I am sorry. Their prejudice against you is not shared by me. You have all already shown me such kindness by letting me stay. I hope you can find it within yourselves to accept me, and teach me as one of your own."

She hadn't raised her head as she spoke, but one troll stood, and moved towards her. She looked up, frightened, and the troll bent to the floor, and held out a hand. "My name be Zaria. I held watch over ya, ya first night here. We do not hate ya, but we are wary of ya. However, our chief has made us understand ya plight, and we would like to help ya. Druids are by nature peaceful people, regardless of der race. Ya have caused us no harm, and we will show ya da same. But know this; if ya use what we teach ya to hurt our kind, we will show ya no mercy. And not even our Chief will save ya from our wrath." Vol'jin rolled his eyes – Zaria had sounded extremely dramatic, and Cenahria had moved to hide herself again, but he knew his tribe. The druids would never disobey him. "Den it is settled. Cenahria will stay in our lands, as our guest. Zaria, would ya take her to the seamstress? If she gonna stay in our lands, she gonna need somethin' betta to wear." Zaria looked at Cenahria, and her thick, elven dress and laughed slightly. She reached to take Cenahria's arm, gently, and steered her to the door. "Thank you, Vol'jin. For everything." Cenahria called over her shoulder, and Vol'jin smiled as his druids left with her. Everything had worked out even better than he had hoped.

A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Vol'jin decided to use his time to meditate. Kneeling in the centre of the room, he began to deepen his breathing. He reached out with his mind, to touch the realm of the Loa. Soft whispering drew him deeper, and his entire body relaxed. He sank deeper into the meditation, so deep, that he gave a roar when a deep growl followed by a loud thud echoed into his hut. One of the female trolls barged in, a look of death on her face. "Chieftain! Zaria has just told me dat da elf is stayin' wit us as our guest! Tell me dat isn't true!" Vol'jin looked up at her, and realised it was Uyoga. Uyoga's family had been killed during an Alliance raid, and she had since developed an understandable rage toward any member of the Alliance. "Cenahria is goin' to be stayin' wit us to learn from our druids. She may be an elf, but she is not like da Alliance in any way." Uyoga snorted, and growled softly. "If ya won't put da needs of dis tribe before ya own feelins, den I will! I'll do whatcha cannot do, Chieftain, and I'll rid us all of dis monster." Vol'jin stood, and met her gaze. He could not, would not, allow Uyoga to harm Cenahria. "Ya will not harm da elf, and dat is an order. I have given orders to da tribe not to harm her, and I expect ya all to follow dem." Uyoga stepped forward, anger seeping through every pore. "Da elf will be our doom, Vol'jin. Ya lettin' emotion cloud ya judgment, and dat could mean our destruction. I promise ya, Chieftain. If ya will not put our people first, I will." And with that, Uyoga stormed out.


	4. Chapter 4

Cenahria felt like she was in a dream. Never, in all her days of travelling to find a teacher, had she actually truly believed someone would take her in. She didn't really know what she had been hoping for when Tyrande and Malfurion told her to leave. The stories of Malfurion's wanders in the forest, meeting Cenarion and starting his path to druidism were traditional bed-time stories for young elves, and her parents in particular had made sure she knew exactly where her name came from. Maybe she had hoped Cenarion would make an appearance to her, as well. Instead, she had found something better. A place that seemed willing to accept her, despite being members of the Horde.

She allowed Zaria to lead her to the druid training grounds, and she thought back to Vol'jin. She had heard many tales about the fearsome troll Chieftain, tales of his victories, stories of him leading his people to kill her own. They didn't seem to fit the real troll, however. She had seen no bloodlust in his eyes, no desire to kill her simply for being her. And that now extended to her fellow druids – after hearing her plight, they had not hesitated in accepting her. Walking through the troll encampment, with the other trolls staring at her, she found that now she was walking with the druids, the rest of the tribe had stopped glaring at her. Now, confusion and indifference reigned. She could get used to this, if the tribe ignored her, and the druids taught her. Could she really have found herself a home?

"We be here, Cenahria. Dis is our training grounds, where we all practice every day. We will find ya a suitable hut for ya to stay in permanently, dat is a bit closer. Take a look around if ya wish, while we discuss the best way to start ya training." Cenahria nodded her thanks to Zaria. The troll was the same troll who had been tasked with keeping guard for her. Taller than most, Zaria had dark skin that bordered on a purple colour. She wore her hair braided, but long, and it was an incredible, bright pink. The variety of colours that surrounded the isles astonished Cenahria. She found it beautiful, and seductive. She could really get used to being here.

The druid trolls were sat in a circle, discussing how best to start her off. Cenahria took the opportunity to study her surroundings. It appeared that she was in a larger training ground, with sections for different studies. She could hear the roars of the warriors battering wooden dummies, and the soft chanting of the mages. The section closest to the druids appeared to be for hunters – there were a variety of trolls firing arrows at targets, while their companions watched. Most of the companions were strange, brightly coloured creatures. They were scaly, but large, and ran on their hind legs, smaller front legs waving wildly.

"Dey be raptors." Cenahria turned, to face Zaria. "What is a 'raptor'?" Zaria laughed at her quizzical expression. "Dey be our friends. Dey live wit us, hunt wit us, and protect us. We even use da larger ones for mounts." She gestured, and Cenahria watched a patrol walk by on vicious-looking red raptors. "I think I will stay away from them for now." Cenahria said, backing away slightly. "Have you decided how best to start my training?" "Ya so eager to learn! Don't worry, we be teaching ya soon enough. I think da best way to start ya off, is for us to see what it is ya already know." That made sense. Cenahria watched as several of the druids brought in some of the wooden dummies she had seen earlier. They set them down, several paces in front of her. "Now den, have ya been shown how to call Moonfire?" Cenahria looked at Zaria. Moonfire was just that – a concentrated burst of fiery moonlight. "It's the middle of the day. How can anyone cast Moonfire when there is no moon to help you cast it?" Zaria and the other trolls laughed at her, but she could not understand why. She looked up at the bright blue sky, and the Sun, with its shimmering heat.

"Just watch me." Zaria moved to stand next to her, and turned towards one of the dummies. She closed her eyes, and seconds later, Moonfire erupted, destroying the dummy. Cenahria stared in shock. That had been a powerful blast, powerful enough to cause several, smaller blasts after. Zaria looked pleased with herself. "Now ya try it." Cenahria looked down at the ground. "I've never tried to use magic during the day. Malfurion never taught us how." Now it was the turn of the trolls to look shocked. "Ya cannot use magic during da day? How do ya protect yaselves if ya get attacked during sunrise?" Zaria's eyes darkened as Cenahria explained how her people slept during the sun hours, and lived during the night. "We have found da perfect starting place for ya. First, ya need to learn to use ya magic during the day." Cenahria bit her lip. That was not going to be easy.

Zaria had her sit in the centre of their small section, and asked her to meditate. "Sit here, and let yaself relax. Feel da sun on ya skin, feel its radiance, and its power. Embrace it, as ya would da moon." Cenahria sat like this for several hours, breaking only to sip water. As the sun began to set on the horizon, Cenahria felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up at Zaria. "Da moon be coming out now. Would ya mind showing us Moonfire now? Just for us to see ya capabilities with da magic." Cenahria nodded and stepped to face the dummies. She didn't close her eyes, like Zaria had, instead choosing to raise her head to the sky. She looked deep into the darkening blue, and found the first hints of the moon shining through. She gazed at it, feeling its power seep through her. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and imagined herself breathing in its energy. Opening her eyes to look at the dummy, she focussed that energy, and the dummy exploded. She was pleased to find she had also caused several aftershocks. She turned back to Zaria, and was greeted with approval. "Dat was impressive. Our first aim is to take dat power, and help ya channel it during the day. But, for now, I think we betta head back. I still need to take ya to our seamstress."

Cenahria followed Zaria and the other druids, as they wound their way through the training grounds towards the troll encampment. She got a sudden chill that shivered down her spine, and she had the sensation of being watched. "Zaria! What ya doin' with da elf? Are ya taking her for execution?" Cenahria stepped slightly behind Zaria. This troll sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it, and the enthusiasm in her voice at the prospect of Cenahria being executed made her want to run. "Uyoga. Vol'jin has decided dat he wants us to help dis druid to learn our ways. She be stayin' wit us now, as our guest. Her name is Cenahria. Cenahria, dis be Uyoga, one of our rogue apprentices." Uyoga was smaller than Zaria, and had emerald skin. Her eyes burned fire. "She be an elf. Der race is nothin' but cowards and monsters. Dey be killin' machines! All ya doing is training her to kill us all!" Uyoga ran off, towards Vol'jin's hut. Zaria shook her head, and continued walking. Cenahria followed, her heart heavy. She couldn't understand what possibly could have happened to make the troll hate her kind so much. She knew elves and trolls didn't particularly like each other, but she had never encountered such animosity.

They arrived at the seamstress several minutes later. The seamstress was a wizened troll, with greying hair. She was kind, however, and took no time in measuring Cenahria for troll clothing. "What I will do for ya is make ya something cool, so ya don't overheat, but I'll try to keep an elven style. Just so ya don't get homesick" Cenahria thanked the troll, and followed Zaria to her new home. "Dis be ya hut now. Meet us tomorrow at sunrise to continue with ya training." Cenahria bid her goodnight, and walked into her hut. It was sparse, but comforting. She settled down on the sleeping mat, and swiftly fell asleep.

Time passed quickly for Cenahria. The second morning, she had awoken to find a small package of new robes in the corner of the hut. She must have worked through the night, thought Cenahria, and vowed to thank the older troll properly. The robes fit perfectly, although she wasn't entirely certain about baring her stomach. It seemed to be the troll fashion, and it did keep her cool though. The troll had sewn several of the robes, each a different colour, and kept the colours natural, as was the elven way.

Her training progressed swiftly, the majority of her time during the day spent meditating in the sun, with the other druids, and the nights learning more about her abilities. The other druids were shocked to find out that the first thing she had learned as a druid was her feline form. It usually took several months for a novice troll to get to that stage, and maintain the form, and it usually took a lot of meditating in the sun. "We use da sun's energies to give us strength. Most of our power comes from da sun, much like yours from da moon." Cenahria soon lost herself in the rhythm of her training.

She barely saw Vol'jin during this time. She would sometimes see him, standing in his doorway as she walked through the encampment, or when she was asked to join the druids in an evening meal. Something about the way he watched her made her feel like he was protecting her in some way. She often thought of this, as she waited for sleep to come. She didn't mind his protection.

Several weeks after her arrival, the time came for Cenahria to try Moonfire during the day. There was an infestation of rodents down in the training grounds, so Zaria asked for a training dummy to be brought to the main encampment whilst the hunters took care of the problem. Cenahria was nervous about trying this for the first time, especially when the other trolls heard of it. By the time she finally stepped out of her hut, to walk to the training dummy, there was a large number of trolls, trying for all the world to appear as though they were supposed to be there. Even Vol'jin was out of his hut. She took a deep breath, and turned to face the dummy. "Don't ya be worryin' about all da trolls here. No one will think any less of ya if ya can't do it. It all takes practice" Cenahria looked at Zaria, who backed away with the other trolls. She was on her own.

Closing her eyes, Cenahria focussed on the feel of the sun heating her skin. She imagined the heat going deeper, heating her entire body, heating her very soul. She raised her head, and drank in the heat. Opening her eyes, and staring at the dummy, she focussed on the feel of the heat, and cast Moonfire. The dummy did not erupt, however a sharp beam of light pierced it, and a small eruption set it on fire. She sighed and turned away. To the crowd of trolls cheering her. Zaria ran up to her and hugged her. "Dat was an excellent start, Cenahria!" She looked at her friend, thinking she had gone mad. There had been no eruption. The spell had failed. She said so, and the druids laughed. "We never expected ya to destroy da dummy as ya would at night on ya first try. But ya called down Moonfire, and it still worked. Dat is excellent progress. Ya only been learning for a few weeks after all, and ya probably tired after spending today preparing for dis. Don't be so hard on yaself. Ya did well" She looked at Zaria, and smiled. It had felt good to set the dummy on fire, and the sensation of casting magic during the day was intoxicating. She did, however, feel drained. "I feel sleepy now after that. I didn't realise so much energy would go into casting during the day." Zaria put an arm around her, and steered her towards her hut, stating to the other trolls that Cenahria needed to rest.

Cenahria allowed Zaria to guide her through the encampment. She closed her eyes and leaned on her friend. She was tired, but happy. She was so happy, that she was not expecting to hear a low growl, or to feel Zaria fling her arm across Cenahria's body. She was not expecting to hear Zaria scream in pain, and spin away from her, clutching her arm. Cenahria opened her eyes. Uyoga was stood, holding two daggers. One was dripping blood. "Zaria, are you okay?" Zaria nodded, and yelled as Uyoga roared, and leapt towards her. Cenahria gasped, and stepped backwards, tripping over a loose stone. She hit her head on the floor, and her remaining energy ebbed. Uyoga smiled, a devilish smile filled with hatred. Cenahria tried to stand, but couldn't get her limbs to move. She was trapped. She silently prayed to Elune and watched Uyoga saunter over to her. "I'm gonna enjoy killin' ya elf. Dis be for all da trolls your kind have killed!" With a guttural roar, she plunged her daggers downwards. And was stopped by a large spear. Cenahria pushed herself backwards. The shaft of the spear was mere inches from her bare stomach. The spear lifted, and was thrust forward, disarming Uyoga and forcing her to the ground. Cenahria lay there, staring at the troll who had saved her life, staring at the barely hidden anger on Vol'jin's face. "Ya have disobeyed a direct order from ya Chieftain, Uyoga. Ya will be sentenced at a trial held at first light tomorrow. Get dis poor excuse for a troll out of my sight." Vol'jin spat on the floor by the side of Uyoga, and the gathering crowd gasped. His guards grabbed Uyoga on either side, and she struggled violently, yelling and screaming in the troll tongue. With every word, Vol'jin's face grew darker. They dragged her away, and finally, Vol'jin turned to Cenahria. His face immediately lost its ferocity. "Are ya alright?" She took his hand, and he helped her off the floor. She nodded, still in shock, before remembering her friend. She moved to Zaria, who was surrounded by the druid trolls, who were unsuccessfully trying to bandage her wound.

"Zaria, I'm so sorry." Zaria looked up at her. "Whatcha be sorry for? Ya not the one who is a traitor to our kind, and ya ain't da one who cut me." Cenahria knelt beside her. "Could I take a look at it? Healing is a part of nature, Malfurion showed us a few ways to mend a wound." Vol'jin and the druid trolls knelt beside her, and Zaria slowly removed the makeshift bandage. Her arm was covered in blood; however, the cut was not too deep. Thankfully, the sun had begun to set when Uyoga had attacked, and Cenahria felt the moon lending her strength. "Ya be tired, Cenahria. Zaria can be taken to da healers, she will be fine." She looked at Vol'jin, who was gently trying to lift Cenahria. "Zaria would not have been hurt if she had not tried to protect me. I have enough strength for this, it is night now." She stared into his eyes, and the concern in them pierced her. He nodded, and released her. Turning back to Zaria, she used the remaining bandages to clear away the blood, exposing the full wound. Closing her eyes, she allowed the moon to strengthen her, and she slowly ran her hand over the wound. She opened her eyes, and began to chant softly, slowly, allowing herself to be a conduit for the moon's power. She chanted in the elven tongue, and the other trolls watched her intensely. Zaria gasped softly as her wound began to seal. As Cenahria finished, Zaria sat up. "Der be no mark." Zaria flexed the arm, and swung it in a circle. Cenahria laughed, and stood. Vol'jin came to stand next to her. "Dat be da second time today ya have impressed me, elf. I be sorry for what Uyoga did." Cenahria turned to face him, smiling. She had impressed him, and that had caused her stomach to do little flips. "It is not your fault Vol'jin. Thank you for saving my life." He smiled at her, and left. She turned to help Zaria stand. "Poor Vol'jin." Cenahria looked at her, puzzled. "Tomorrow will be a bad day for him. He gotta consult wit da spirits now, to see what dey want him to do about Uyoga. Da trial will be difficult for him, and for da tribe." Cenahria nodded, and watched him as he walked back to his hut.


	5. Chapter 5

The night had been cold, and restless, an ominous sign from the Loa. Vol'jin had spent his time meditating, waiting for Bwonsamdi to counsel him on what to do about Uyoga. No leader liked sentencing one of his own to death, but Uyoga had broken her oath. Every troll swore allegiance to their Chieftain, every troll swore to uphold and follow every rule set. Uyoga had disobeyed him, had harmed another member of the tribe, and had attacked Cenahria. Vol'jin knew exactly which angered him most. He did not know what that meant, for him or the tribe.

It had taken some time for Bwonsamdi to make himself heard. Vol'jin had the impression the spirit did not want to become involved in such a trivial matter, but such was the troll way. As expected, Bwonsamdi demanded death. "Send da traitor's soul to me. I will make her see da error of her ways, and she can spend eternity serving me." Bwonsamdi's voice was like ice, and Vol'jin sighed. "It feels wrong to kill one of my own." "Are ya not a child of mine, shadow hunter? Send me da traitor's spirit. Dat is what trolls do." And with that, Bwonsamdi had withdrawn from their brief talk, and Vol'jin had tried to sleep. Dreams plagued him throughout the night, dreams of him protecting Cenahria, keeping her safe from all harm. Sometimes, he hated the Loa.

Dawn lit the sky soon enough, and Uyoga was brought into his hut as the sky was turning a sweet pink. Many other trolls had gathered, either outside the hut, or to stand in a circle inside. Vol'jin noted that Zaria and the other druids had chosen to stand inside, behind his chair. Uyoga was flanked by two of his guards, and they dragged her to the centre of the circle. Forcing her to her knees, the guards retreated a few steps, but kept their spears trained on her. Uyoga had lost none of her ferocity, and she spat at the floor beside both of them.

"Ya know why ya have been brought here, Uyoga. Ya broke ya oath to ya Chieftain, ya harmed one of our own. Da spirits demand ya be punished." The other trolls nodded in agreement. Uyoga finally raised her head, and looked him in the eyes. "Ya know dey not be da reason ya want to kill me, Vol'jin. Ya know da reason why, and ya hate yaself for it. I tried to save dis tribe, save it from ya ineptitude. Ya have damned us all!" Heat burned through Vol'jin's veins, as he struggled to keep his temper under control. "Look at ya. Look at what dat elf whore has done to ya. Once, ya commanded respect. Now, elves walk freely among our kind, when dey would easily stab us in da back." Uyoga's eyes had glinted at the word 'whore', a look of malice crossing her face. Vol'jin growled slightly, desperately wanting to defend Cenahria, but knowing that she was trying to bait him. The other trolls were completely silent, some confused, others concerned. He briefly wondered how many of his tribe knew what he was struggling to admit to himself.

"I have communed wit da Loa. Bwonsamdi himself demands ya soul in retribution for ya broken oath. My thoughts are my own, but da laws of our kind are clear. Da spirits want ya life, and I be more den happy to give it to dem." Uyoga stared back at him defiantly. There was no fear on her face. She would fight anyone who tried to execute her. That much was clear. "Do ya have any last words to say, to ya family, before ya die?" For the first time, emotion crossed Uyoga's face, and instantly Vol'jin regretted his choice of words. "Da elf's kind slaughtered my family. Ya know dat Vol'jin. Ya be cruel to remind me of dat, now I come to join dem." Vol'jin moved to take his spear from Zaria, who was holding it for him, when a broken voice came from the doorway. "We killed your family?" Vol'jin looked to the doorway. Cenahria was stood, her face a picture of pain. Tears shone in her eyes, and he knew, in that moment, that Cenahria felt Uyoga's pain, and grief. She understood why Uyoga had attacked her. And she felt sympathy for her. "Cenahria. I didn't think ya would want to be here for dis. Maybe ya should go home, and we can talk about dis after?" He tried not to beg her with his voice. She was too innocent, too pure, to watch him kill one of his kind. He couldn't let her watch this. "Vol'jin. You aren't going through with this?" Cenahria met his eyes, and when he nodded, the tears vanished. She strode into the centre of the room, and to his utter disbelief, she stood, between Uyoga and him. Zaria looked confused, and the other trolls began to whisper amongst themselves.

"Please, get away from Uyoga. She be a traitor to our kind, she tried to kill ya! She may not have a weapon, but she could still attack ya, even now. For ya sake, wait outside?" This time he did allow a note of pleading into his voice, but Cenahria just straightened, and continued to look at him. It struck him how she looked, standing in her troll dress, eyes locked onto his. He couldn't look away. He couldn't close his mind to the thoughts. He wished they were alone. "This is a trial for her crimes. As you say, she broke her oath to you, and she harmed Zaria. I understand you have your laws to follow. But you cannot execute her for trying to attack me. I won't allow it." Amazement flooded through Vol'jin. This was the same elf who only a few weeks before, had cowered behind his chair when a troll had tried to take her hand. Now she was risking her life, to _defend_ the very troll who had tried to kill her? "Ya won't allow it? Ya not be one of us. I don't want ya pity, or ya help." Uyoga spat at Cenahria, but the elf ignored her. "You cannot execute this troll for trying to kill me. After what my people did to her, and her family, it is understandable what she has done." Cenahria turned to face Uyoga, and her eyes softened. "You may hate me for the crimes of my kind. I hate them too. Your family did not deserve to die. They did nothing wrong. And I am truly sorry that you have lost them. Please. Allow me to make up for the sins of my people, by giving you a second chance at your own life." Cenahria's voice had grown gentle, and she had knelt beside Uyoga. The trolls continued to stare at Cenahria, and Vol'jin's mind raced. On one side, he had an obligation to Bwonsamdi. The Loa demanded Uyoga's life. But Cenahria was asking him to spare Uyoga's life, as a means of apologising for what her kind had done. His heart tugged towards the only option he knew he had.

"Ya wish me to show mercy, to da very troll who tried to kill ya?" Cenahria looked at him, and nodded. There was a slight fierceness to her gaze, that hardened when he reached for his spear. She moved herself slightly in front of Uyoga. "As Chieftain of dis tribe, I have asked da Loa for guidance. Uyoga, ya have broken ya oath, and deliberately harmed one of ya own. For dat, ya must be punished." Cenahria's eyes narrowed, and followed his movements, as he stood in front of Uyoga. Slamming the spear into the ground next to the troll, he bent to the floor. "But, I cannot punish ya for attacking Cenahria. She is our guest, and she has begged for mercy on ya behalf. Dat I must honor." Uyoga met his eyes, and for a moment her hatred vanished. It seemed Cenahria's words had affected her. Vol'jin moved to stand by his chair, and looked straight through the open doorway, ignoring every troll in the room. "From dis day forward, ya are no longer part of da Darkspear. Ya are exiled from dese lands. If ya return, we will kill ya. Leave. Now." He growled the last word. Exile was rare amongst his kind, and already murmurs were beginning to grow amongst the watchers. Uyoga stood, as did Cenahria. Their eyes met briefly, and Vol'jin could only guess what passed between them in that moment. Uyoga stormed out of the hut, and the other trolls followed. He knew that they would make sure she left the lands swiftly.

Vol'jin sank into his chair and sighed. Bwonsamdi would not be pleased with his decision. "Thank you, Vol'jin." He looked up to see Cenahria had stayed behind. She had remained in the centre of the room, and was watching the procession of trolls following Uyoga to the border of the Isles. Sadness emanated from her form. He wanted to go to her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, what had happened. He wanted to hold her, to take the sadness away. He wanted to tell her how her compassion struck him, how rare it was to find someone as pure as her. He wanted to do so much.

Vol'jin watched as Cenahria silently left his hut, disappearing into the brightening day.


	6. Chapter 6

Uyoga's trial haunted Cenahria for several weeks, even after the trolls themselves had stopped talking about it. The revelation that the troll had lost her entire family because of her kind affected Cenahria deeply. She enjoyed living with the trolls, and genuinely could not understand the hatred between the races. They treated her with greater respect than her own kind, and despite understanding why Uyoga had hated her, Cenahria spent a great deal of time wishing things could have been different. She could not quite believe that Vol'jin had been prepared to have Uyoga killed for what she had done. In Cenahria's mind, everyone deserved a second chance, even the troll. She didn't think she would forget easily the look in Vol'jin's eyes when she had deliberately placed herself between the Chieftain and Uyoga. Nor would she soon forget the look she had shared with Uyoga before she was banished. The troll was indebted to her now, she owed Cenahria her life. And she hated it.

Cenahria tried very hard not to think about Vol'jin over the next few weeks, instead throwing herself completely into her daytime meditation. Thinking about him made her angry, and sad, and she didn't quite understand why. She knew that if he had gone through with the execution, she would never have forgiven him, and that scared her. He was the troll Chieftain, and nothing more. He had no right to her forgiveness, or to her thoughts, even. Cenahria felt more on edge than she ever had, and so training became the perfect excuse to run away from the darkening depths of her feelings.

Her training was no longer confined to the tiny space allocated to the druid practitioners in the training grounds. Cenahria often travelled around the Isles with Zaria, and a younger male named Zanda. Zanda and Zaria were related in some troll way that confused Cenahria, but he was sweet, and she liked him a great deal. He had been practising druidism for less time than her, and so she often found herself practising with him in the evenings. Her Moonfire was getting stronger now, even in the daytime, and it wasn't long before she was destroying the wooden dummies completely. Zaria's arm took time to heal, but Cenahria used it to practise her healing techniques, and soon began sharing her knowledge with the other druids. It felt good to share her knowledge with the group, almost as though sharing her healing skills paid them in some way.

3 months had passed since the first day Cenahria arrived. One particular day was bright, and warm, and Cenahria was playing with a few of the troll children. The hairs on her neck prickled, and she felt a warmth flow through her body. She smiled before catching herself, and deliberately refused to turn around, knowing who would be watching her, the cause of the smile and the warmth in her stomach. "Cenahria! Today be da day dat Zaria finally lets me try out my cat form! Once I can turn into a cat, we can battle each other!" Cenahria smiled at Zanda's enthusiasm. His bright, yellow hair bounced as he bounded over to where Zaria and the other druids stood, waiting. Eager to support her friend, Cenahria followed.

"Zanda, today be the day dat ya show how far ya have come. Ya have reached da point in ya trainin' where ya can progress to learnin' da form of a cat, and da abilities dat come with it. Are ya ready?" Zanda nodded, beside himself with excitement. Cenahria stood back, out of the way, and was surprised when Zaria jerked her head, motioning for her to stand with them. "Ya a druid, Cenahria. Ya one of us. 'Tis our tradition dat all druids be present when a student reaches dis stage. Ya may be learnin' still, but ya know ya form perfectly, and dat makes you a higher student den Zanda today." Zaria whispered quickly, but firmly. Suppressing a smile, Cenahria stood to face Zanda. As Zaria told Zanda his instructions, she allowed herself to revel in the fact that in that moment, she was truly part of something, she truly belonged. Shaking the thoughts from her head, she watched Zanda intently. He had been preparing for this for weeks. She had offered him help, but he refused to even let her show him her own form.

"Zanda. Begin when ya ready" Cenahria held her breath as Zanda knelt to the floor. He shook his head backwards, face raised to the sun, drinking in its light. Cenahria thought back to when she had first discovered her form, how long it had taken her to change. She bit her lip and smiled as she watched Zanda's limbs begin to shake. Long minutes crawled by, as slowly, centimetre by centimetre, Zanda's body grew. His yellow hair became a magnificent mane, stretching along a breath-taking turquoise body. His fur was broken by deep sea-green stripes, following in the troll fashion. The transformation stopped, and her friend stood before her, a truly wonderful display of strength. A low growl shook his body as the druids clapped and cheered. A mischievous look crossed the feline eyes, and without warning, Zanda pounced on Zaria, a loud squeal making the other druids laugh. Cenahria laughed with them, happy that Zanda had managed to transform on his first try. The other druids transformed too, quicker than Zanda, and the scene became dazzling. Cenahria was used to the colours of the Isles, so different from the muted colours of Kalimdor, but the druids would have put a rainbow to shame.

Zanda shot Cenahria a playful look, and without thinking, she transformed, enjoying the power that coursed through her feline veins. Cenahria was so caught in the moment, that she didn't see Zanda's sudden transformation back into himself, or the shock in the eyes of the other druids. She didn't see it until Zaria, in her troll form, backed away from her slightly, eyeing her. She turned her head to look at Zanda, who crawled backwards, away from her. She whimpered, turning in a circle in an effort to see what they were staring at. Other trolls, who had come to see Zanda's test, looked at her with the same shocked expression. "Cenahria. Ya form. Ya… have changed." The concern in Zaria's face, and the confusion in Zanda's eyes, were too much. Growling, Cenahria turned, and ran.

She ran, away from the trolls, away from their eyes, and their shocked stares. She didn't care where she ended up, as long as it was away from them. She couldn't understand why they looked so nervous. She looked down at her paws. They were covered in sand, but otherwise unchanged. Staring at the sand on her paws, Cenahria realised she had reached the stretch of water that separated the Echo Isles from the mainland. Water was reflective, and she knew she could look into the waves and see what had shocked the trolls so much. But reluctance plagued Cenahria. She had only just begun to feel like she belonged, and if she looked into the water, she would see that she was in fact, not one of them. Where the trolls were bright, she was dark, built for the shadows. She would never be one of them. Cenahria snarled at herself. She would find out what had happened eventually. Better for her to find out herself than by having to ask one of the trolls. Slowly, she crept to the water, eyes closed, and placed her front paws into the waves. Leaning forward, she took a deep breath.

And opened her eyes to her reflection. The shock of the trolls was mirrored in her own eyes. Zaria had been right; she had changed. Her cat form was almost the same as always, her body a deep, midnight blue, sleek and strong. Perfect for blending into woodland, and becoming one with the night. However, the stripes that crossed her body, nearly identical to Zanda's, would make hiding in darkness a bit more difficult. If the stripes had followed her elven heritage, and matched her dusky fur slightly, she may not have panicked so much. If she ever returned to her people, they would know exactly where she had been all this time – the troll druids were well-known for their striped forms. Having her stripes match her coat would have made hiding them easier, but the colour is what truly shocked Cenahria to her core. Her dark blue fur was broken by slashes of deep red, not unlike blood. The clash of the colours should have been ugly, and Cenahria knew she should have felt disfigured. But the bright red seemed to balance the darkness of the blue. Instead of a horrible mess, Cenahria looked… powerful. Intimidating.

"It appears da forms of a druid do not depend on ya race." Cenahria stopped trying to see herself at other angles, and sat down. She had not spoken to Vol'jin since Uyoga's trial, and hearing his voice now sent tremors down her spine. She looked over her shoulder as he came to kneel next to her on the beach. Choosing to remain in her feline form, she growled an agreement to his words. "Ya form shows da grace and da beauty gifted to ya by ya elven heritage." The shock and pleasure of hearing Vol'jin say so easily that she had beauty was enough to bring Cenahria back to her elven form. Embarrassed, she looked away from him. "But da stripes show dat ya have so much more. Ya spirit, and da power ya seem to deny yaself. But tis more den dat. Dese colours, ya would not find dem anywhere else." Cenahria turned to him, and purposefully looked at his bright blue skin and red hair. He smiled self-consciously. "Ya might find brighter versions of ya blue and red amongst da trolls, but ya do not find such deep colours existing together. Anywhere else, dese colours would look out of place. Dey would clash, be at war with one another. But ya bring dese colours together, ya create harmony out of chaos. And dat be somethin' you do quite often." A look crossed Vol'jin's face, and Cenahria knew he was remembering how she had defended Uyoga. She looked at him properly, and smiled at the slight embarrassment on his face. Clearly, he had been wanting to talk to her for some time, and had used her changed form as an excuse.

Vol'jin cleared his throat and stood. "I best be leavin' ya alone to ya thoughts now." A moment's hesitation, and Cenahria reached out, and grabbed his hand. "I'd like to watch the sun set across the water. I've heard it's supposed to be quite beautiful. Will you stay, and watch it with me?" Heat wound its way through her body, beginning from the skin that touched his. She raised her eyes, and met his gaze. His eyes were intense, and she realised she could not look away. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, what this meant, but she was so desperate for him to stay with her, that she did not care. He nodded slowly, and sat beside her, as the sun began to slide towards the horizon.


	7. Chapter 7

Vol'jin had never felt as shocked as he had when he had watched Cenahria transform into her feline druid form. Since the trial, he had watched her from afar, wanting to talk to her, to apologise, but she denied him at every opportunity. She refused to so much as look at him, and that hurt him more deeply than he cared to admit. So when Zanda had begun his test of his powers, Vol'jin had found the perfect excuse to watch her. She had looked so happy, being included by Zaria, standing with the other druids. She had truly looked as though she belonged there, and Vol'jin had known then that regardless of what the Loa told him, allowing her to live with them was no mistake.

When she had turned into her cat form, and ran away, Vol'jin had not hesitated to follow her. The other trolls were completely taken aback, and rightly so. Only a troll druid had stripes in their form. When she had arrived, her elven feline form had been pure inky blue. He had thought her beautiful, even then. But watching her look at her own reflection, seeing the stripes crossing her body, a perfect crimson slicing through the deep blue, he had finally begun to admit to himself that Cenahria was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He had no doubt why troll stripes had appeared on her elven druid form, and he was secretly happy at the colour they had turned out to be. Her very spirit and soul had changed since joining his tribe, and the physical representation of this made Cenahria look more mysterious than ever.

Vol'jin told her so. Or, at least, he told her parts of that. Barely concealed joy had lit her eyes when he told her she had beauty, and it had been a struggle not to smile as she hid herself in embarrassment. It had felt so good, talking to her again, and he had not wished to push things. He had felt the conversation end, and had begun to make his way back when, once again, she completely went against his assumptions. She had taken his hand, and asked him to watch the sun set with her. The moment her skin had touched his, electricity had rippled through his body. He had turned to face her, the voices in his head wanting him to roar at her that he was a Troll, and that trolls did not stay on beaches with elves. The intensity of her eyes had stopped him.

He had stayed on that beach with her for hours, well into the night, listening to her talk. She had released his hand, but they sat close, their thighs gently touching. As a shadow hunter, Vol'jin was acutely aware of his surroundings all the time. But his senses were never more alert than they were that night. As the night grew darker, Cenahria had grown more confident, more talkative. He watched her as she told him of her childhood, living in Kalimdor. She told him of her parents, and her older brother, and he stayed silent as he memorised every feature of her face. The way her eyes tightened when she spoke of Malfurion, how her head tilted to the side whenever she asked him a question about life on the Isles. Her eyes glowed at night, almost as though they held the light of the moon itself. Eventually, Cenahria had begun to tire, and he had walked her home.

After that evening, Vol'jin did not see much of Cenahria. The other druids had quickly grown accustomed to her new feline form, and she let her guard down once more, advancing her studies. Vol'jin wished for some excuse to talk to her again, but his Chieftain duties quickly took over. Garrosh Hellscream was named Warchief for the Horde, and Vol'jin had to prepare for his journey to Orgrimmar.

Several days before he was due to leave for Orgrimmar, Thrall had appeared in the brazier. "Do you have all you need for your visit, friend?" Vol'jin looked at the bundles that he had packed by the door, ready to be taken in advance by wind rider. "I have all I be needin' for da journey. Do ya think it be too much to bring my glaive?" Thrall laughed, but a serious note edged his voice. "Our new Warchief may take that as an act of defiance against his position. Vol'jin, I am doing what I believe to be best for the Horde. As I have said to Sylvanas and Baine already, do not anger Garrosh while you are here. The Horde is at risk of breaking apart, and we need to stand firm against all possible threats." Vol'jin snarled slightly. "And if da threat be from within our ranks, Thrall? What den?" Thrall sighed, and turned the conversation.

He was in the middle of telling Vol'jin about a drunken brawl between a goblin and an orc when the door skin flapped, and air twisted the vision of Thrall. A mischievous look immediately crossed Thrall's face, and Vol'jin's face heated as he turned to face Cenahria. "Oh! Vol'jin, I am so sorry. I didn't realise you were busy!" He smiled at her, and introduced her to Thrall. "Cenahria, dis be Thrall. He be a good friend of mine." She smiled at the vision of Thrall, and turned to Vol'jin once more. Her eyes flicked back and forth from the bags. "I didn't realise you were going away, Vol'jin. I trust everything is well?" Concern etched her face, and Vol'jin searched for a way to tell her he was leaving her with his tribe for a few days. "Our Horde has recently appointed a new Warchief. As Vol'jin is the Chieftain here, he is obligated to meet him in Orgrimmar. He will be gone for several days." Vol'jin shot a look at Thrall, who smiled at him. "However, I see no reason why you couldn't join him here. It is not often a Night Elf joins our ranks, and Orgrimmar is truly a sight to experience. I'm sure Vol'jin would appreciate the company, and it would be good to finally meet you in person." Cenahria tilted her head, and a smile brightened her face. Vol'jin nearly growled, however his friend's smile merely grew bigger. "If that isn't too much trouble, Thrall. I would love to see your city." Vol'jin forced a smile as she looked to him, and he couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiastic call of "Goodbye, Thrall! I will see you in a few days!" as she ran out of the hut. As soon as she left the hut, Vol'jin rounded on Thrall.

"Why ya be inviting Cenahria to Orgrimmar?" Thrall laughed, and grinned at his friend. Vol'jin instantly regretted telling Thrall of the night he had spent talking to her in the moonlight. "You said you wished to get to know her better, Vol'jin. What better way than spending a few days alone with her in Orgrimmar?" "Thrall, ya know as well as I do, dat if she walks through Orgrimmar, she will be in danger. She would not be safe. Any number of da Horde would jump to kill her, especially with da new Warchief." Vol'jin stopped for a second. How could he meet his new Warchief with Cenahria at his side? "I will explain to Garrosh the unique situation. The guards will be instructed not to harm her. And Vol'jin, she will be with you. She could not be safer. It's said females like a male that can protect them." And with that, Thrall dissolved into more laughter. Scowling, Vol'jin poured sand over the flames, extinguishing the brazier, and the vision of Thrall.

Vol'jin sat in his chair, and sighed. He felt completely torn. Allowing Cenahria to come with him would almost certainly put her in danger. She would be surrounded by the Horde, most of whom would be desperate to prove their worth to the new Warchief. The head of an alliance elf would bring instant respect, given Garrosh's reputation. But. Spending several days with Cenahria, away from his tribe. He could even take a day and show her the outlying villages, he could even take her riding on one of the raptors. Cenahria had told him how much she loved to experience new cultures, how she had dreamed as a child of travelling to visit the other races of the alliance, learning how they lived, learning of their differences to her own life. Showing her Orgrimmar would be a dream come true for her, which had been evident in her enthusiasm to accept Thrall's offer. He could not let her down. And Thrall was right. Being alone with her meant time to talk to her more. Looking at the bags he had packed, Vol'jin slid several knives into one of them, and placed his warglaive next to the pile. He did not care if Garrosh took it as a sign of defiance.

Vol'jin would protect Cenahria in any way he could.


	8. Chapter 8

Orgrimmar! Cenahria could hardly believe her ears when Thrall had invited her to join Vol'jin in the Horde city for a few days. Immediately, she had gone to pack. Now, three days later, she was riding on the back of a wind rider, flying above Durotar towards the citadel. Cenahria looked at her surroundings; Durotar was a harsh land, sand stretching as far as she could see. Trees dotted the landscape, but they were sparse. She sighed at the desolation, and remembered her own home. There was no shortage of trees in Teldrassil. Small villages appeared below her, here and there. She could just make out trolls, orcs and tauren milling around, going about their lives. Each time one appeared, her heart jumped. Vol'jin had promised her a trip to one of them, to meet more of his people.

Vol'jin. He was flying just ahead of her, and Cenahria turned to watch him. She couldn't make out whether he was happy to have her with him. One moment, he would be laughing, making plans with her, the next he was asking Zaria whether she felt Cenahria could hold her own in a duel! She shuddered; she did not wish to use her abilities to harm others. Which brought her mind to the one thing that crept up her spine. She was a Night Elf. By race, Alliance. Entering the very heart of Horde territory was either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. Cenahria was concerned, not for her safety, but for Vol'jin and for Thrall. The orc had reassured her that all measures were being taken to ensure her arrival was expected, and that no one would try to hurt her, that the Horde would not risk war with the Alliance over her being harmed. But that did not mean someone might not try to hurt either the troll or the orc, by association.

"Cenahria!" Troubles melting away, she smiled as Vol'jin turned to face her, pointing ahead. She had spotted it too – the great gates of Orgrimmar loomed ahead. The crimson and black of the horde sigil dominated the towers, and a steady trickle of civilians moved through the chasm they were now flying through. The horde city looked huge, with massive walls and sentries milling in the towers. A large rock jutted out from the side – the city had been built inside what appeared to be a cocoon of small mountains. The beasts flew over the sentries, and came to land by a green-skinned flight master, who swiftly took the reins.

"Vol'jin. It is good to see you, friend." A larger orc, also green-skinned, greeted the troll warmly, and turned his attention to her quickly. "And this must be Cenahria! Welcome to our city." He offered her his hand, and she took it, overwhelmed by the sheer size of this creature. She had heard great tales of the orcs, but had never seen one up close. Thrall's touch was gentle, however, and his smile friendly. She smiled back, and allowed herself to relax slightly.

"Thrall. It be good to be back. Which inn we be stayin' in? Don't ya be puttin' me in the same one as last time – I have no patience for da goblins." Cenahria smiled slightly, as Vol'jin's voice oozed disgust. "Yes, yes I remember that _particular_ altercation. It took several days to rebuild that inn." Thrall laughed as Cenahria quietly repeated what he had said to herself. Rebuild the inn? What in Elune had Vol'jin done? "I thought it would be better if you both stayed with me. That way Cenahria can be made to feel a little more secure." She smiled appreciatively, and Thrall nodded. "Secure? Ya told me dat ya spoke to da Horde. Dey know she comin'. Dey know not to attack." Vol'jin immediately began eying the flight master with distrust, and the orc swiftly walked away. Cenahria placed a hand on Vol'jin's arm. "Vol'jin, relax! I trust Thrall, and I trust you. I must admit I was scared but. I feel safe. For now, at least. Everything is so big!" They both laughed, and she followed as they made their way to the main part of the city.

After a brief tour, Thrall led them both to a small but cosy inn, in what Thrall called the Valley of Strength. He had briefly mentioned a Cleft of Shadows, which sounded very intriguing, but her stomach had begun to rumble, and Vol'jin had immediately suggested they find food. Eager to taste what Orgrimmar had to offer, she had quickly followed them. The Inn was called The Broken Tusk, and had several, friendly looking Tauren behind the bar. Gryshka, the Innkeeper, was a lovely Tauren, who stated as soon as they walked in that Cenahria was "very skinny! Horde need to be big and strong, like Tauren. I will have food cooked immediately!". Considering how she was at least half the size of most of the Horde, Cenahria took no offense to this, and sat opposite Vol'jin at a table. She listened as Thrall and Vol'jin reminisced, mainly about various 'brawls' that they had participated in, and an elderly Tauren seated at the bar joined in enthusiastically. The brawls mainly seemed to be against goblins. After some time, Gryshka brought a large bowl of what appeared to be a stew to the table, as well as food for Thrall and Vol'jin. "Jungle Stew! Dat will make ya big enough for da horde for sure!" Vol'jin grinned at her, and Thrall rolled his eyes. It smelled delicious, with just a hint of apple. Tasting it, Cenahria immediately smiled too. It tasted fantastic, and two bowls and half a hunk of bread later, she had surprised not only the Innkeeper, but everyone else in the Inn too at her ability to eat her own body weight in food. Grinning, Cenahria settled back and closed her eyes.

After Thrall and Vol'jin had finished their meals, talk had turned to Horde matters. Cenahria stayed silent. Vol'jin did not outright say so, but his hot tone showed his disagreement in Thrall's decision to appoint Garrosh Warchief. Many of the stories Cenahria had heard about orcs had mentioned this Garrosh, particularly the violent ones. She was hoping Thrall would ask her to stay in the Inn during the meeting between Garrosh and the various leaders, including Vol'jin. She genuinely enjoyed being in Orgrimmar, but meeting Garrosh terrified her. She was reluctant to say so, however. Vol'jin's mood had deteriorated rapidly as the conversation had turned to the new Chief, and the smallest thing could have him sending her back to the Echo Isles for her own safety.

The sun was beginning to set when they finally left The Broken Tusk. Thrall and Vol'jin had gone back to reminiscing, this time about adventures away from Orgrimmar, when a loud, deep roar reverberated around the Valley. Vol'jin immediately stepped in front of Cenahria, as a large, brown-skinned orc stepped out of a building in the very centre of the Valley. Thrall went to meet him, as the orc had begun moving towards them, eyes narrowed, and Vol'jin did not move a muscle. "If I tell ya to run, ya run to da wind riders, ya get on one, and ya take off. D'ya understand?" Fear had taken over, and Cenahria barely managed a whispered yes back. Thrall was desperately trying to stop the orc from getting any closer, and eventually resigned himself to walking beside him, talking all the while. The orc, who had darker tattoos on his body, roughly shoved Vol'jin aside, and studied her.

"Garrosh. This is Cenahria. She is the elf we discussed last week, if you remember. She has joined Vol'jin's Darkspear on the Echo Isles. I invited her here, to show her the hospitality of the Horde. Cenahria, this is Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde." Cenahria looked up into deep, burning eyes. The hatred there made her want to scream, but she was rooted in place. "Garrosh. It is nice to finally meet you. Congratulations on being made Warchief. That must be quite the honor." Surprised by how calm her voice was, Cenahria held out a hand, maintaining eye contact with the Chief. Vol'jin stood close to Thrall, eyes flicking between them. For the first time, she noticed his glaive, strapped to his back. One hand seemed dangerously close to the glaive's edge. Garrosh, still staring into her eyes with hate, took her hand, and thanked her. Cenahria gasped as Garrosh tightened his grip, and yanked her forward, into the fading light of the sun.

"Let's get you into the sun, elf. Let us look at you, shall we? Inspect our… newest member." Garrosh's voice was deeper than Thrall's, and was harsh, not unlike Durotar's landscape. Several orcs and Taurens had gathered now, and Thrall had placed a hand over Vol'jin's chest when Garrosh had yanked her. The look in Garrosh's eyes was nothing compared to the boiling hate seething in Vol'jin's. Moving his hand to her waist, Garrosh spun her around, slowly, with his other arm outstretched, as if showing her off the crowd. Several orcs who had been with Garrosh when he had first left the building ahead began to stare at her, eyes devouring her. Desperate to get away, Cenahria tugged at Garrosh's arm. "Please. You're hurting me. Please, let me go." A harsh, brutal laugh escaped Garrosh's lips, and he pushed her. Quickly, the crowd became a ring, and Garrosh grinned maliciously. "I am sorry for hurting you, elf. We wouldn't want to bruise that pretty skin now, would we?" Garrosh's stare now became a leer, and Cenahria could feel his eyes, all their eyes, drinking in her small, but well-rounded frame, and she whimpered as Garrosh placed his hand on her waist again. She could not see Thrall anymore, or Vol'jin. "I can see now why the Darkspear have allowed you into their ranks; you must provide hours of entertainment for Vol'jin and his trolls. It must be an honor for you to serve the Horde in this way. The Horde are all about _honor_." The meaning of Garrosh's words sank into her, and Cenahria couldn't take it anymore. She whimpered again, tears pouring down her cheeks, and ran to the edges of the ring, desperate for a sign of Thrall, of safety. Grabbing her by the waist, Garrosh pulled her close to him, and she cried out.

"Ya get ya filthy hand off Cenahria, Garrosh, else I be removin' it for ya." Quiet malice stung Vol'jin's words, and Garrosh whirled to face him. He dug his fingers into her side, and Cenahria screamed in pain. Vol'jin's face, already shadowed, darkened further. "I be not warnin' ya again." Vol'jin reached behind himself, and the glaive whipped above his head, a faint hum filling the air. Through her tears, Cenahria stared at the troll. This orc could kill him easily. What was he doing? Smiling, Garrosh pushed Cenahria forward, and she tumbled into Vol'jin. "Selfish of you, Vol'jin, keeping such a pretty prize to yourself. There is no honor in it. I will fight you for her." His smile became a grin, as the orc reached for his gigantic axe. Panic rising, Cenahria moved to stop Vol'jin, who had brought down his glaive in a defensive stance. Thick, green arms held her back, and she could faintly hear Thrall's voice through the blood rushing in her ears.

Slowly, orc and troll circled one another…


	9. Chapter 9

Vol'jin had never in his life felt such fury as he did in that moment, slowly circling Garrosh. He could hear Cenahria behind him, screaming at him to stop, Thrall frantically trying to stop her from getting between them. As they circled each other, Vol'jin briefly stood opposite her, and could see the bruises Garrosh had left on her side. Garrosh had a look of dangerous malice on his face, and Vol'jin's lip curled back in a low growl.

Without warning, Garrosh struck, lunging forward to bring Gorehowl down in a wide arc. Vol'jin dodged nimbly, bringing his glaive around to cut Garrosh's arm. The cut was superficial however, and it did not take long for Garrosh to recover. Vol'jin had heard the stories about the new Warchief. He was brutal, and relentless when fighting. But orcs were not known for their intellect, and Garrosh was no exception. Vol'jin had commanded many battles, and knew how to trick an opponent. Plus, Vol'jin had something that Garrosh did not. Cenahria's screams had dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs, and each one hardened Vol'jin's resolve to punish Garrosh, Warchief or no.

The fight continued like this for some time, troll and orc testing each other, searching for weaknesses. Vol'jin managed several cuts to Garrosh's torso and arms, but neither had managed to inflict serious injury. Cenahria was now completely silent, and Vol'jin kept flicking his gaze to her. She was on the ground, in Thrall's arms, both looking on in shock and concern. The spectators were shouting, mostly for Garrosh, which came as no surprise to Vol'jin. The noise was so great, that Vol'jin did not hear Garrosh muttering to one of the Kor'kron, the guards to the Warchief. Vol'jin was so intent on the battle, that he did not see the guard slowly move through the crowd, towards Cenahria, and Thrall.

Garrosh lunged for Vol'jin again, eyes narrowed in concentration, as he feinted to the side, trying to cut Vol'jin's side. A loud scream, and all Vol'jin's attention spun to Cenahria, and Thrall who had caught a knife in mid-air, in a small burst of wind. Immediately, Vol'jin moved to Cenahria, to check she was safe, the battle, and Garrosh, forgotten in his bid to protect her.

Garrosh struck again. Hard.

White hot pain carved its way into Vol'jin's side. He was vaguely aware of Cenahria calling his name, and Thrall standing up, fury on his face. Sinking to the ground, Vol'jin dropped his glaive. He could feel the air shifting around him, and turned his face to see Thrall, who had stepped between him and Garrosh, weaving the very air to create a protective bubble around Vol'jin. He fell to the side. The ground felt so cold. He could hear the blood rushing to his ears, and the sound of Bwonsamdi calling to him was seductive. The world was starting to darken, as the blood drained from his side, and Vol'jin felt tired. Closing his eyes to the sound of Cenahria begging him to stay awake, Vol'jin went to sleep.

Cenahria had never felt so scared, not even when Garrosh had had his hand on her side, surrounded by orcs who wanted to hurt her. Vol'jin was just lying there, on the ground, and he had closed his eyes. Scrambling to his side, Cenahria ignored her surroundings. She was sobbing, begging him to stay with her. She rested her head on his chest, and she began to memorise every inch of him, from his fiery red hair, to the deep blue muscles that made up his body. The rise and fall of his chest began to slow, and a thick, green arm tried to pull her away.

"Cenahria. The cut, it is deep. We should get him back to the Isles. He would want to spend his final moments with his people, not here." Thrall's words were like daggers in her heart, despite the gentle tone. "No. I can fix this. I will not let him die!" Resolve lent her strength, and she shoved Thrall's arm away. She looked up, and through a veil of tears could see that it was dark in Orgrimmar. She was alone, but for Thrall and Vol'jin. "Cenahria. I understand that you care for him but" "No, Thrall. Vol'jin defended my honor. I have to try to save him." Thrall sighed, and stopped trying to get her to stand. Instead, he knelt beside her, and began cleaning the blood from Vol'jin's side with water that seemingly came from nowhere.

Swallowing her pain, Cenahria studied the wound. Vol'jin's entire side was crimson, and the wound was slowly pumping deep blood. Raising her face to drink in the light of the moon, she gently placed her hands over Vol'jin's side. She said a small prayer to Elune, and began to draw upon her own energy, guiding it into the wound. She started deep, siphoning energy into the gash, slowly repairing it from the inside out. Thrall gasped as faint, green light emanated from her hands, and she smiled slightly as the power of nature itself coursed through her veins, and into Vol'jin's. Slowly, painfully slowly, the wound closed. Cenahria fell backwards, suddenly faint. Thrall looked at her in concern, and she waved him away. "We need to get him someplace safe, somewhere we can wash and dress the wound" Thrall nodded, and gingerly picked Vol'jin up from the ground.

Cenahria staggered to her feet, and swayed. All her energy had gone into repairing Vol'jin's wound. She barely had any energy left. But she needed to stay strong, for him. Raising her eyes to look at Vol'jin's unconscious body, she forced herself to follow Thrall, through the streets of Orgrimmar, until they reached Thrall's home. Thrall's home was small, but cosy, with several rooms. Thrall had set up makeshift beds on the floor of the first room, and he lay Vol'jin down on one of them. He turned, and motioned for her to follow him, stating that she could sleep in the second room, but Cenahria barely heard him. Energy ebbing away, she stumbled toward Vol'jin and sank down next to him. "I will not leave his side. Not when he saved my life. Again." She muttered to herself.

Giving in to the sweet embrace of sleep, the last thing Cenahria was aware of was Thrall pulling a blanket over her body. As he did so, she reached out an arm, using the very last of her strength to take Vol'jin's hand in her own. Sleep took her over, and she sank into blackness.

Vol'jin opened his eyes to faint light streaming through makeshift curtains. Turning his head, he could see the first rays of sunlight filtering through a window, and he briefly wondered where he was. He became aware of something resting on his hand, and turned to see Cenahria lying next to him, sleeping quietly. Her hand was gently entwined in his, and she had clearly gone to sleep holding it. "She refused to sleep anywhere else. She collapsed next to your sickbed, and I thought it wise to leave her where she was. It is good to see you awake, my friend." Trying not to wake Cenahria, Vol'jin slowly sat up to face Thrall, who was seated across the room.

"What happened? Da last thing I remember is Garrosh hurting Cenahria. Dis be why she collapsed?" Grunting in pain, Vol'jin took the small cup of water Thrall offered him, and listened to him recount exactly what had happened during his fight with Garrosh. Remembering what he had done to Cenahria brought back the fury, and his veins burned with hatred once more. "I am sorry I did not come to your aid sooner, Vol'jin. I was concerned that Cenahria would get between you both, and I felt you would rather me keep her safe." Vol'jin nodded. Cenahria's safety came above anything else, in his mind. He looked at her, and smiled softly at how peaceful she looked. He looked at his friend, who was watching him, smiling. "How is it dat I be alive?" "Cenahria. She refused to believe you were dying, and she healed you. I have never seen anything like it. She used her very life energy to repair your wound, instead of taking it from the area around her. She is very skilled, although I have a feeling her dedication was not down to her being a druid." Vol'jin flushed slightly, and sank back the floor. Cenahria had used her own energy to heal him? It could have killed her!

As if she somehow knew they were talking about her, Cenahria began to stir. Muttering an excuse about needing more water, Thrall quickly exited the house, leaving them alone. Vol'jin shook his head, and gently squeezed Cenahria's hand. As if struck by lightning, Cenahria sat straight up, completely alert. "Vol'jin! You are awake! You're okay! Oh, I am so glad…" Her words faded as she hugged him fiercely, burying her face into his chest. He grunted slightly at the pain, and she immediately sat up again. Vol'jin laughed at her look of concern, and gently brushed away her hands as they began moving to his wound.

"Don't ya be worryin' about me, Cenahria. I hear a very skilled healer managed to save my life. I think I be okay from now on." He smiled as she blushed at the compliment. She ignored him, however, and began to untie his bandages, to assess the wound. Her touch was gentle, and sent tiny shivers down his spine. He liked it, and settled back to watch her work.

Her face was framed by her dark hair, and the ends of it tickled his side. Her eyes held a look of concern, but the light in them was bright. He found himself staring at her eyes, and he began to feel hot. Moving his eyes down her body, to look at the bruises Garrosh had left on her side, the heat worsened. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, but his eyes kept being drawn to this woman who had saved his life by nearly giving her own. Her pale green dress was cut to show her stomach, and, caught in the moment, he reached out and pulled her closer. The feel of her skin made the heat worse, and a small voice in his head told him to stop, that it was inappropriate, it was wrong, screaming that he was a troll, and she an elf.

Her eyes did not lose their light at his touch. Instead, a fire took over them, and the intensity caught him. She saved my life, Vol'jin told the voice in his head, and he moved his hand to brush her hair from her face. All thoughts vanished, and Vol'jin lost control as those eyes gripped him. Sitting up, Vol'jin pulled Cenahria even closer, and did the one thing his head screamed at him not to do.

He kissed her.


	10. Chapter 10

Vol'jin's touch was electrifying. Cenahria had been assessing his wound, when without warning, she had felt his hand brush behind her, to bring her closer to him. Staring down at this troll, heat had begun to rise in her cheeks, a heat that intensified as he raised a hand to brush away the hair from her face. Fire had coursed through her veins as she stared into those eyes.

The kiss still caught her by surprise. Days later, when confiding in Zaria about the moment, Cenahria could not tell whether minutes or hours had passed. The moment the Chieftain's lips had met hers, time itself had stopped. Nothing in Azeroth mattered, not Vol'jin's wound, not her bruises, not the fact that Thrall could come back any minute, and find them there together. All Cenahria had known, was that she did not want it to end.

The end came with Thrall barging through the front door, and Vol'jin pushing Cenahria away, whilst lying back down, all in one swift, saddening movement. The abrupt end to their kiss, and the way Vol'jin deliberately looked anywhere but at her, made Cenahria feel as though Vol'jin regretted it, as though he was ashamed of his actions. Blinking back tears, Cenahria moved to the other side of the room, to let Thrall look at Vol'jin's wound.

"I am glad you are awake, Cenahria. Help yourself to water. You were exhausted after your healing of Vol'jin last night. You must regain your strength." Cenahria nodded, and silently poured herself water. She sat down next to Thrall, and watched as he undid the bandages. A slightly puckered, blue scar slowly appeared from beneath the bandages, and Thrall gaped in disbelief. "What is it, Thrall? How bad be da wound?" "Wound? There is no wound, Vol'jin. Cenahria has healed you more completely than even I first thought. See for yourself." Thrall gestured to a small mirror, resting on the table, and Cenahria brought it over to them. Holding it so Vol'jin could see his side, she smiled slightly at the look of shock on his face. Vol'jin ran a hand over the scar. "I feel nothin'. It be like I never been wounded at all! Dis be very impressive. Thank you, Cenahria." There. That one, tiny, glance at her, and grateful smile. That was all the interaction that Vol'jin was willing to have with Cenahria for the remainder of their time in Orgrimmar.

Several days passed, and Cenahria spent them in Thrall's home, too scared to venture outside. Vol'jin had various duties to take care of, and spent most of his time outside, speaking to his people, and with the leaders of other factions within the Horde. Thrall divided his time between Vol'jin and Cenahria, for which she was very grateful. She liked Thrall, and he was more than willing to talk to her about Orgrimmar. He entertained her with stories, especially ones involving brawls Vol'jin had taken part in. Every mention of his name sent tremors down her spine, and brought memories of his warmth. Soon, it was time for her to leave. Vol'jin and Cenahria were sent off unceremoniously, with a lone Thrall standing on the rock, waving goodbye. The air in the citadel had felt tense as Cenahria had followed Vol'jin to the flight masters, and she had been glad to leave.

The flight back to the Echo Isles was quiet. No Vol'jin pointing out interesting places this time. Sighing, Cenahria settled back and ignored everything, pondering their kiss. She had been foolish to believe the kiss had meant he cared for her. She was an elf, an Alliance elf. He only protected her out of fear of Alliance retribution. The kiss had simply been a moment of weakness from a troll who had thought he was dying. Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and Cenahria wept for the remainder of the journey.

Zaria and Zanda were waiting for her when they landed in the Isles. Quickly wiping her cheeks and forcing a smile, she greeted them as warmly as she could, hugging them both. Zaria exclaimed at the sight of her bruises, but said nothing after a sharp look from Vol'jin. "Chieftain, where did ya get dat scar?" Zanda, however, had not noticed the look from Vol'jin, and balked at his reaction. "Cenahria can fill ya both in on our injuries. I have matters to be attendin' to." With that, Vol'jin stalked off to his hut, leaving a confused Zaria and Zanda behind.

Sighing, Cenahria turned to Zaria. "I'm starving, let's get something to eat, and I can fill you in on everything that happened." Nodding, Zaria followed Cenahria back to her hut, after a brief trip to the cooking fire. Zaria's eyes were permanently wide as Cenahria detailed the fight between Vol'jin and Garrosh, and she growled when the meaning behind the bruises became clear. Cenahria paused during the story, when she reached the morning after the fight. "What is it, Cenahria? Dat scar looked weeks old. Ya healing magic must be very powerful! Ya must teach us!" Cenahria smiled at her friend. "When I woke up, I tried tending to Vol'jin's wound. He had not realised how much I had healed him, and he was still a little delirious I think. He must've thought he was dying still." Cenahria was babbling, and a concerned Zaria narrowed her eyes. Swallowing, Cenahria admitted that Vol'jin had kissed her. A small squeal erupted from Zaria, who looked as though this was the best news she had ever heard.

"Ah, but Vol'jin be a fine troll to mate with, Cenahria! He be strong, and loyal, and fierce, good things to have in a mate. Ya a lucky elf! Ha, if the two of ya marry, you'll be our leader too!" Cenahria gaped at her friend. Mate with Vol'jin? _Marry_ Vol'jin? "Zaria, I do not think you understand. Your Chieftain was delirious from the wound. He wasn't fully in control. As soon as he realised what was happening he put an end to it. He clearly regretted it. He hasn't spoken to me or even looked at me since." Her voice broke, and she allowed Zaria to cradle her in her arms as Cenahria cried herself to sleep.

Days melted into weeks, and every opportunity Cenahria had, she tried to speak to Vol'jin. All she wanted was contact with him, something to show he cared for her still. She began to fear that she had done something wrong, that maybe Thrall entering the house had not caused Vol'jin to end the kiss at all, that maybe Vol'jin had hated the kiss itself. Cenahria confided all of this in Zaria, who quickly became exasperated. "Maybe our Chieftain be feelin' _awkward_ , Cenahria. It not be everyday dat Vol'jin is attracted to anyone, not even a female of his own race. Maybe he be feelin' embarrassed by his behaviour. Talk to him, tell him how ya feel." Cenahria beamed at her friend. This made sense! She quickly transformed into her cat form, and loped to Vol'jin's hut.

Vol'jin was seated at the back of the hut, and someone had brought his brazier out from behind the chair, so he could commune with Thrall. Cenahria entered the room quietly, and sat down in the centre of the room, patiently waiting for Vol'jin to notice her. The smoky Thrall turned several times towards her, and eventually said hello. Vol'jin continued not to notice her. Heat began to rise in Cenahria, as she became aware that he was _deliberately_ ignoring her. She stood, and took a step forward, smiling and returning Thrall's hello. "Vol'jin, may we talk?" He waved a hand, still not turning to even look at her. That dismissiveness was the final straw.

"Vol'jin! You may be the Chieftain of the Darkspear Trolls, but that title does not give you the right to ignore me! I understand that things may be a little awkward since Orgrimmar. But you kissed me. It happened. And. And! I liked it! I liked our kiss, it made me happy." Cenahria paused for a moment, surprised by her own boldness. Vol'jin had turned to face her, his face a blank mask. Thrall was looking at them both in shock, and without looking at it, Vol'jin put out the fire. The room went dark. She waited for him to say something, anything, but all he did was stare at her. "Aren't you going to say anything, Vol'jin?" Cenahria pleaded with him. The desperation to know how he felt tugged at her heart. It was all too much. "You know what, Vol'jin? Be as arrogant as you wish. Clearly the moment meant nothing to you. I expected more from you. Not that you will care, but that was my first kiss. So, it is not my fault if it was bad in any way. I just wanted to know if you enjoyed it as much as I did, but clearly I was stupid for even trying to talk to you!" Tears choked her voice. Not wanting to cry in front of Vol'jin, Cenahria turned and fled the hut, leaving the broken pieces of her heart behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

Cenahria felt so soft in Vol'jin's arms. The moment his lips met hers, the screaming in his head vanished, and the minutes began to melt into one another, as his entire world became her. He never wanted it to end, never wanted to let her go.

A loud crash announced the arrival of Thrall, and in shock, Vol'jin pushed Cenahria away, whilst lying down. He felt that for her sake, it might be best for Thrall not to know of their newly-developed affections for one another. Thrall might be one of his closest friends, but Vol'jin was unsure of how the orc might respond if he knew just how deeply he cared for her. Vol'jin felt pained as Cenahria refused to look at him, and moved to the other side of the room, allowing Thrall to begin inspecting his wound. The pain had subsided, and Vol'jin barely felt a thing, but that could have been because Cenahria's reaction to their kiss had left him feeling numb.

"I am glad you are awake, Cenahria. Help yourself to water. You were exhausted after your healing of Vol'jin last night. You must regain your strength." Vol'jin couldn't help but watch as Cenahria poured herself water, still deliberately ignoring him. Saddened, he turned his attention to Thrall, who had begun to unwind his bandages. A slightly puckered, blue scar slowly appeared from beneath, and Thrall gaped in disbelief. "What is it, Thrall? How bad be da wound?" Thrall's shock worried Vol'jin, as the memory of Garrosh's attack flooded into his mind once more. "Wound? There is no wound, Vol'jin. Cenahria has healed you more completely than even I first thought. See for yourself." Thrall gestured to a small mirror that had been resting on the table, and Vol'jin felt a slight chill run down his spine as Cenahria brought the mirror and came to kneel next to him. She held the mirror so he could see the wound. Except, there was no wound. All he could see was the faint scar, and he slowly ran his hand over it. "I feel nothin'. It be like I never been wounded at all! Dis be very impressive. Thank you, Cenahria." He dared a look at her, and briefly met her eyes. He smiled at her, trying to fit all his emotions into that one smile, but she looked away quickly. That was the last time she looked at him for the rest of their stay in Orgrimmar.

The next few weeks passed in a blur for Vol'jin. His fight with Garrosh had caused chaos between the orcs and trolls, and he spent a great deal of his time trying to calm his people. He saw Cenahria several times over the weeks, and despite desperately wanting to talk to her, his people came first. He tried his best to be as friendly as possible to her, and resolved to speak to her properly the first opportunity he got. All thoughts of Cenahria and their kiss were forced to the back of his mind as Vol'jin worked to mend the fragile relationship the Darkspear had with Orgrimmar.

Several weeks after his return to the Echo Isles, Vol'jin sat in his hut updating Thrall on events with the Darkspear. "Things seem to have become calm here now. Da Darkspear understand why I fought with Garrosh, dey respect my decision. I think things might finally be at an end." A small gust of wind distorted the image of Thrall for a second, as someone stepped into the hut. Thrall began talking of things in Orgrimmar, and how fights were still breaking out between orcs and trolls.

Vol'jin was vaguely aware of someone kneeling on the floor of his hut, but his people took priority. Thrall's image kept turning to look at the figure, and eventually said hello. Vol'jin blinked in surprise when Cenahria responded, and he felt her move closer. Torn between Thrall's report from Orgrimmar, and wanting to speak to Cenahria, he dared a sideways glance at her. Her head was cocked to one side, and she was watching him. Blushing slightly, he turned his full attention back to Thrall. Cenahria obviously wanted to wait. "Vol'jin, may we talk?" Cenahria's voice had an odd, pleading tone to it, and he waved his hand to beckon her closer; he needed a few more minutes to devise a plan with Thrall, and then he was all hers. He was about to turn to explain this to her, when Cenahria exploded.

"Vol'jin! You may be the Chieftain of the Darkspear Trolls, but that title does not give you the right to ignore me! I understand that things may be a little awkward since Orgrimmar. But you kissed me. It happened. And. And! I liked it! I liked our kiss, it made me happy." Vol'jin turned to face her in shock. His mind went blank, he could not think. Cenahria had liked the kiss. It had made her _happy_. Vol'jin's entire body was set on fire, as all thoughts of fighting in Orgrimmar were replaced by the memory of her kiss. He could do nothing but stare at her, this tall, beautiful woman, standing in his hut. Without looking at Thrall, he put out the brazier. He wanted to be alone with her again. "Aren't you going to say anything, Vol'jin?" There it was again. That pleading tone. Vol'jin's mind suddenly snapped to her words. Cenahria felt he was ignoring her? Vol'jin went to stand, to go to her, but her body went tight with anger, and he hesitated. "You know what, Vol'jin? Be as arrogant as you wish. Clearly the moment meant nothing to you. I expected more from you. Not that you will care, but that was my first kiss. So, it is not my fault if it was bad in any way. I just wanted to know if you enjoyed it as much as I did, but clearly I was stupid for even trying to talk to you!" Tears were threatening her, but Vol'jin was rooted. He stood, trapped by his own shock, as Cenahria turned and fled the hut.

Coming to his senses, Vol'jin ran after her, shouting her name, but her midnight form was already disappearing into the night. His mind raced; she had liked the kiss. She thought she was bad at it. He had been her first. She thought he was _ignoring_ her. Vol'jin walked back into his hut, and kneeled in the centre of the room. What had he done? Surely, Cenahria understood how important his duties to his people were? Then again, Vol'jin had not taken the time to explain to her why he was so busy. He shook his head, and tears of his own threatened to spill. This was all his fault. He had isolated her, pushed her away. He wanted her closer. He wanted her to smile. He needed to make this right. But how?

Vol'jin sat for hours, thinking of what to do, thinking of every single moment he had spent with Cenahria since she had arrived in the Isles. The evening they had spent together, on the beach, kept coming back to him. Watching the rays of the sunset move across her face as she spoke of her home, Vol'jin had never been happier. He wanted that again. An idea began to form in his mind, as one of her stories came back to him. She had spoken of her parents and her brother a great deal that night, and the love she had for them was plain, as her eyes shone with it. Vol'jin smiled to himself, as he remembered her telling him how whenever her father upset her mother, he would pick her flowers, and cook for her. It never failed to make her mother smile, and this was clearly something that had meant a lot to Cenahria. Vol'jin stood, knowing what he had to do.

Several days later, the plan was ready to be put into place. He had sent word to Orgrimmar, to the finest tailors, who happened to be Blood Elves. He wanted this meal to be special for Cenahria, and had asked them to make a fitting gown for the occasion. He had no idea what they had made, but, he had placed the wrapped package in her hut as she slept the night before, with a note, asking her to meet him. As the Isles were painted with the oranges and pinks of the sunset, Vol'jin began to get nervous. He had laid out jungle stew, the only dish he knew she liked, on a cloth in the centre of his hut, with a small vase of flowers. He desperately hoped it was enough. It was beginning to get late. Vol'jin paced nervously. What if she didn't show? What if she hated him? What if he had lost his only chance? He was about to give up, convinced he had effectively ruined everything, when a small breeze stirred the candles, and Cenahria stepped into the room. "Vol'jin?" Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her.

And stared. He could not help himself. The elves in Orgrimmar had done everything he had asked, and more. Cenahria stood, in a simple gown, cut in an elven style. It touched the floor, and appeared to be made of silk, silk which clung to her body in a way that caused heat to rise through Vol'jin. But it was the colour that stopped him. The simple dress was the exact silver of her eyes, and in the candlelight, it shone, just as her eyes did when she smiled a certain way. She smiled like that now, blushing, and Vol'jin stepped towards her. He did not trust himself to speak. He pulled her close to him, and kissed her, a short, sweet kiss. He felt her smile, and this time, it was his turn to blush. "Cenahria. D'ya like it?" He swept an arm around the hut, while keeping her close to him with the other, and she nodded. Someone, likely Zaria, had woven flowers into her hair, and he could smell their perfume as she looked around the room. "You look beautiful, Cenahria." She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and smiled. "Thank you, Vol'jin, although some credit must go to whoever made this dress. I love it, Vol'jin, I really do. Thank you. For all of this." She cocked her head as she breathed in the smell of the food, and immediately her eyes lit up. "Is that… jungle stew, Vol'jin?" Grinning at her, he nodded, and led her to the cloth.

As the first stars appeared in the sky above the Echo Isles, Vol'jin and Cenahria sat, and talked. They stayed this way for hours, long after the last of the stew had been devoured. He explained to her the situation in Orgrimmar, and why he had ignored her, and she apologised for her outburst. Happy that things were good between them again, Vol'jin lay on his side, head propped on one arm, as he listened to her talk. He asked her more about her home, and she asked him about the many brawls he had mentioned with Thrall when they had been in the Horde Capital. She found these stories very entertaining, and the sound of her laughter filled the hut more than once.

For the first time, in a very long time, Vol'jin felt at peace.


	12. Chapter 12

Heart broken, Cenahria had fled Vol'jin's hut in cat form. His rough voice carried after her, and she ran from it, as if his words alone could burn her. Not caring where she ended up, Cenahria ran until she couldn't run anymore, past Zaria, and Zanda, past their unspoken questions. Tears blurred her vision. She had given _everything_ to the troll Chieftain. Had given him her first kiss. And for what? He didn't care for her. That much was clear now. Sobbing, Cenahria changed back to her elven form, and stumbled. She was vaguely aware of sand cushioning her fall, and she briefly looked up. She had somehow made her way to the beach where she had watched the sun set with Vol'jin. The memory of that night deepened the wound in her heart, and her body jerked with the force of her sobs. The sand caught her tears, but eventually her body stopped shaking, and Cenahria could breathe. She sat up, and gazed out across the water. The moon was bright, and she drank in its light. "Blessed Elune. You have not forsaken me. Grant me strength. Mend this wound." Her voice cracked, and dissolved once more into sobs.

After a while, she became aware of a presence behind her. Cenahria refused to turn around, scared of who she might find. Instead, she raised her chin in stubborn defiance and continued to stare out towards the distant shore. The tears kept falling. In complete silence, Zaria and Zanda came to sit either side of her. Zaria put an arm around her, and Cenahria leant into her. "Cenahria…" She turned to face Zanda, the question plain on his face. She sat up, away from Zaria, whose face mirrored Zanda's. A deep pain throbbed in her chest as she looked down towards the sand. Her lips began to form Vol'jin's name, but the pain threatened to choke her. Now it was Zanda who put an arm around her. Taking a deep breath, Cenahria told them what had happened. By the end, she was crying again, but different this time. No sound came from her sobs now. No more tears. Just broken, painful breaths.

Zanda and Zaria had helped her stand, and led her back to her hut. Cenahria had collapsed onto the bed and exhaustion had taken over. The sun had been high in the sky when she had finally woken, mentally bruised. Despite sleeping soundly for hours, she felt completely drained of energy. Cenahria rolled over onto her side, staring at the strips of sunlight that were desperately trying to dispel the darkness of her hut. The strips suddenly widened as Zaria stepped inside. "How ya feelin', Cenahria?" Zaria's voice was soft, and full of concern. Energy still escaping her, she rolled over again, to face the wall. Deep inside her, something told her what she was doing was wrong, but she simply could not bring herself to talk. "Cenahria. I know ya be hurtin'. It's all raw right now. But ya got people around ya, to help ya." Cenahria's eyes filled with tears at the pleading tone in the troll's voice. But still, no words would form. She could hear Zaria walking around her hut, and she heard a faint rustling. "Ya have a package here, Cenahria." She grunted. She couldn't bring herself to care.

"Cenahria. Dis be Vol'jin's handwritin'." That got her attention. A knot formed in her stomach at his name. But a small bubble of hope formed too. She rolled over, and sat up. Silently, she looked up at Zaria, and held out her hands for the package. Zaria gave it to her; it was feather-light. The troll studied the note that had been left on top. "Vol'jin wishes you to meet him for dinner tonight. In his hut. He says this is for you." Cenahria opened the package, and out spilled the most beautiful dress she had ever seen in her life. It was a shining silver, and made of silk. Cenahria looked up at her friend, who smiled down at her. "Let's get ya all dressed up for da Chieftain. Come on. We need flowers!"

Several hours later, Cenahria stood in her hut, Zaria braiding the last of the flowers they had picked into her hair. The flowers had a sweet scent, and were a pale ivory, a sharp contrast to the darkness of her hair. Finally finished, Zaria smiled, pleased with her work. "Don't be too hard on Vol'jin, Cenahria. I know ya be hurtin', but he wants to make amends. Ya gonna stop his heart, the way ya look tonight!" Blushing, Cenahria nodded to her friend, and made her way to Vol'jin's hut. Pausing outside the door, she took a deep breath. The last time she had been here had hardly been a positive experience, and the knot in her stomach throbbed painfully. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to remain strong, and stepped through the door.

Vol'jin stood, facing away from her. "Vol'jin." He immediately spun to face her, and Cenahria blushed at the way his eyes drank in the sight of her. She looked around the room, taking in the candles, and the food spread out on a blanket in the centre of the room. She smiled, as she remembered the way her father used to do the same for her mother, and the knot in her stomach finally released. Vol'jin was trying to make up for ignoring her. For hurting her. Vol'jin moved towards her, and pulled her close. Before she could say anything, his lips were pressed against hers, and she melted into his kiss. It was shorter that she would have liked, but sweet, and he kept her pressed against his body. He gestured to the blanket on the floor, and asked if she liked it. Nodding, she followed him. The evening passed in a blissful blur, and several more kisses were shared before the end of it. Vol'jin walked her home when it got late, and by the time she lay down to go to sleep, all thoughts of heartbreak were gone from her mind, replaced by butterflies and warmth.

Weeks passed, and Cenahria grew closer to not only Vol'jin, but Zanda and Zaria too. Soon, the three were inseparable, aside from the evenings, which were strictly for her and Vol'jin. They ate together every night, and one more than one occasion, Cenahria even slept there, finding a comfort she had never known, lying there in his arms. Nothing more than sleep occurred on these nights, but that didn't stop the relentless teasing from Zaria and Zanda.

One blistering day, the three decided to explore the woodland just beyond the Echo Isles "What will happen if ya become pregnant, Cenahria? Will da baby be troll, or elf?" Zanda's question caught Cenahria off guard, especially the sincerity and genuine curiosity that had been evident in his tone. Zaria snorted, and giggled to herself. "I… I do not know, Zanda. But, I think it is much too early to be thinking about babies and such. We haven't even… We aren't quite there yet in our relationship." Cenahria's blush grew deeper as Zaria cocked an eyebrow and looked her, scepticism deep in her eyes. Choosing to ignore her, Cenahria decided to enjoy the landscape instead. They had ventured into the forests, and for a moment, Cenahria felt homesick. Despite the vibrancy of the Isles, Cenahria sometimes missed the majestic beauty of her homeland, with its violet trees, and dark shadows.

Breathing deeply, Cenahria revelled in the mixture of scents that filtered through the air. The soft perfume of the flowers, the deep musk of the trees… all reminded her of home. Sighing, she continued to walk with her friends in comfortable silence. A sharp crack cut the air, the sound of twigs breaking. Stopping, Zaria looked around, instantly on the defence, and Cenahria rested a hand on Zanda's arm – he looked scared. "Der not supposed to be any trolls around here. Everyone else be back at da Isles." Zaria's voice held a slight growl of concern, and Cenahria looked around too. The trees were silent, betraying nothing. The sound came again, more than once, closer this time. It sounded like multiple people were moving around, just ahead of them. Zaria moved in front of Cenahria and Zanda, and that was her mistake.

Before Cenahria could blink, a knife whistled through the air, landing in Zaria's side. Blue and gold burst out from the trees in front of them, as Zaria fell to the ground. Panic threatened to take Cenahria, as Alliance soldiers formed a line. Blinking back tears, Cenahria stared at Zaria, on the floor, as the soldiers advanced. "Zanda. Go. Run to Vol'jin and the others. Go. Now!" Without hesitation, Zanda swiftly changed into his feline form, and fear leant him speed as he raced back to the Isles. Zaria whimpered as one of the soldiers ripped the knife from her side, and let her fall back to the ground, wiping the blood on her troll dress. Cenahria knelt beside her, ignoring the soldiers completely, ignoring the danger she was in, and desperately began trying to heal the wound. Blood made her hands slippery, and anger muddled her thoughts.

"Let the troll die. You are safe now, Cenahria." The soldier was still wiping off the blood, this time with a small cloth he had produced from his armour. That voice. Shock reverberated through her veins, but she refused to look up. Refused to believe. Zaria was shaking now, her breathing becoming faint. She was vaguely aware of the soldiers whispering amongst themselves, asking their leader why she was trying to heal the troll. Cenahria ignored them. Zaria clutched at Cenahria, fear clouding those vibrant eyes, and despite her own fear, Cenahria had to remain strong for her friend. "It's going to be okay, Zaria, I will heal you, I will, I promise…" Cenahria's voice trailed off, as the blood pumping from Zaria's body began to ebb, and her breathing slowed. Holding her hand tighter, Cenahria begged her not to leave her, repeating her promise, over and over, until Zaria's body grew still. Strong hands took hold of Cenahria, and pulled her away from her friend. Zaria, who had always been so strong, so powerful. So kind.

Numb, Cenahria stared at the lifeless body on the floor, the voices around her fading to distant whispers in her mind. Zaria looked so small. Just to the side of where she lay, was a small cluster of white flowers, the very same that she had woven into Cenahria's hair the day she had first had dinner with Vol'jin. The memory of how much Zaria had tried to take care of her since she had arrived burned through her veins, and anger tinted her vision.

"Cenahria. I understand it is a shock to see us here, but we are here to save you. Please. Come with us before the other troll returns. Maybe on the way you can explain to us why you sent him to get the Chieftain brute." Shaking, Cenahria raised her eyes to meet the gaze of the lead soldier, who had removed his helmet, finally done cleaning his knife. The other soldiers still wore theirs, but no helmet could hide the long ears of the Night Elves, and Cenahria had recognised that voice instantly. "I am going nowhere. I will go nowhere with a group of murderers. Even if they are led by my brother." Turning to meet his gaze, Cenahria looked into the cold eyes of her older brother, Liacus. Without warning, the other soldiers raised their weapons, and Cenahria became aware of movement behind her. Zanda moaned and collapsed to the floor as he came across Zaria's body, and Cenahria could feel the fury emanating from Vol'jin. "What happened here? Why ya be attacking my kind? We have left ya alone. We have done nothing wrong."

A deep laugh, full of bitterness, came from behind the soldiers. Vol'jin stiffened, and Zanda sobbed harder, clutching the body of his only family. Cenahria felt a sense of familiarity from the laugh, and as the soldier's parted to let another through, she realised why. "Done nothin' wrong? Ya let an elf poison our ranks. I told ya, I would not let dis elf harm our people. I told ya, I would take care of it. It be a shame a troll had to die, but Zaria be a traitor. And we all know how ya like to execute traitors of our kind, Vol'jin." Blind fury took over Cenahria, as she stared at Uyoga. She had forgotten about this troll. The memory of her hatred for her, and why she had been exiled burned. "I begged for mercy on your behalf. I asked Vol'jin to _save_ you." Uyoga refused to look at her, instead spitting at the ground. Liacus eyed her with distaste, but walked over to her, and handed her back the knife. "You were right, troll. Thank you for leading us to my sister. I am impressed by your accuracy. Here is what we promised you." To Cenahria's disbelief, her brother handed Uyoga a pouch which clinked. Uyoga had not only killed Zaria, but had sold her out, for gold?

This was the last straw for Cenahria. Her blood boiled in her veins, and Cenahria felt the change begin to take hold of her before she could stop it. Expecting to change into her feline form, Cenahria was shocked as a power more intense than anything she had ever felt rippled through her body, as her limbs and muscles grew stronger, and bigger than before. With a jolt, Cenahria realised she had transformed into her bear form. This should not have been possible given how little training she had had for it. Instead of panicking, however, she embraced her strength. Fear danced in the eyes of the soldiers as she stepped forward, and growled loudly. Or rather, she roared. The power felt good, and she reared on her hind legs, towering over the elves, and Uyoga. Uyoga took a step back, eyeing her with wariness. Dropping to the floor with enough force to shake the ground, Cenahria stared into the troll's eyes. Uyoga had called Zaria a traitor? Seething, Cenahria regretted begging for Uyoga's mercy, wishing that Vol'jin had just executed the troll. Uyoga was the traitor. Turning to look at Vol'jin, and Zanda, Cenahria made her decision. Meeting her gaze, Vol'jin nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. Raising one great paw, Cenahria slashed deeply through Uyoga with her claws, straight through her body. The fire in her eyes died instantly, and the soldiers gave a cry of alarm. Expecting guilt, or panic, or some other emotion, Cenahria changed back into herself, staring at Uyoga's lifeless corpse with a cold heart.

"So, you are a killer now, sister? Is this what these monsters have turned you into since you left your family? Do not worry, little sister. We will take care of this. You will be back to yourself soon." Cenahria turned her gaze to her brother, and shook her head. Vol'jin growled slightly at being called a monster. The soldiers turned their weapons to him, and Cenahria sensed the troll preparing to defend himself. Advancing slowly, the soldiers surrounded her and the Chieftain, her brother's intentions clear.

"One more move, and I will carve each of you up, like I did this traitor." The soldiers stopped, hesitant. Even her brother stopped for a moment. "Cenahria, Tyrande and Malfurion sent us to get you back. It is our duty to destroy those who threaten the Alliance, and this beast has not only killed countless elves in his time, but stole you, and turned you into a killer. You are a healer, sister. You keep the flame of life burning, you don't snuff it out." Vol'jin whipped his glaive from his back, spinning it over his head, to bring it down in front of Cenahria, moving close to her. "We did not steal ya sister, Elf. She came to us, for teachin' because ya great Malfurion exiled her, and sent her away." Liacus raised an eyebrow, and looked at Cenahria. "Malfurion never told us why you left. Just that you had betrayed us and had decided to leave. Put your weapon down, troll. You appear to care for my sister, so I will make your death swift. I will grant you that much."

"I will not let ya take Cenahria. If ya truly cared for ya sister, ya never would have let her leave." Vol'jin's grip tightened, and Cenahria turned to face him. She knew her brother meant what he said. He would order his men to attack. Vol'jin was strong, but vastly outnumbered. Zanda was still inconsolable, he would be of no help if this turned to battle. Vol'jin's eyes were bright with concern for her safety, and for a moment, Cenahria smiled, bittersweet as it was. The memory of his kiss burned in her mind, and she knew she could not live with herself if her brother killed the troll. She put her arms around the Chieftain, hugging him fiercely. "Thank you for everything you have done for me, Vol'jin. I will not forget you, or our time together." Realising what she meant to do, Vol'jin began to protest, but Cenahria gently pushed aside his glaive, and moved to her brother. "I will go with you. On one condition. You do not harm this troll, or any troll. We leave. Now. You ask me no questions of my time here. You take me back to Mother, and Father, and we forget this. If not, you can explain to our parents why you killed not only the troll Chieftain, but your own sister as well."

Her brother knew he had no choice, and nodded, defeated. The soldiers turned to leave, and after explaining that she needed a moment alone, the group began to make their way back the way they had come, albeit slowly. Running to Zanda, Cenahria allowed herself a moment to share tears with her friend, as she hugged him. She said a small prayer to Elune, to keep Zaria's spirit safe, and gently let go of the younger troll, guilt and grief starting to creep into her heart. Her heart grew heavier still as she moved back to Vol'jin. No words were needed between them. He understood the need for her to keep their romance a secret. Unexpected tears threatened the Chieftain, as he touched her cheek gently. She looked him deeply in the eyes, and allowed tears of her own to spill. The moment was brief, however, as Liacus came back looking for her, prompting Vol'jin to quickly move his hand, and straighten.

"It has been nice knowing ya, Cenahria. Thank you for sparing our lives. I will be sure not to forget dis. Or you." The last words were a whisper, and Cenahria felt that old knot in her stomach return. Before she could change her mind, she ran to her brother, refusing to look at him. They walked a few paces into the forest, and he handed her the reins to one of the sabres the elves often used as mounts. The party began to move off, and Cenahria stole one final glance behind her. She could just make out Vol'jin, hidden in the trees. He had followed her, to see her off. Smiling painfully, she blew him a quick kiss, before anyone could see. A small voice in her head told her she still had time. Her brother and his soldiers were unprepared, she could change form, attack from behind. Vol'jin would take out the rest, he was a seasoned fighter. She could see him holding his glaive, clearly ready to move on her word. Sighing, she listened to her brother, laughing up ahead. Too many lives had been lost today; she could not take any more. She could not risk Vol'jin being harmed. She needed to do this. To protect him.

Hardening her heart, she turned away from Vol'jin, and any possibility of going back.


	13. Chapter 13

"Chieftain. Swiftclaw has escaped da pens again." Vol'jin was aware of a voice. He could sense another's presence. But the words didn't quite reach him. The troll sat, in his chair, staring out into nothingness. "Chieftain? CHIEFTAIN!" Vol'jin jolted at the shout, and turned to glare at the sheepish-looking troll in front of him. "What d'ya want?" Vol'jin had little patience, and his irritation grew at the small sigh the troll gave. "Swiftclaw. He escaped da penning area again. Dey be requesting dat ya go deal with it." Vol'jin rolled his eyes. He couldn't care less if the damned raptor had escaped. "I got a better idea. I give ya my permission to act on my behalf, and sort da situation out. I have faith ya can carry dat out." Vol'jin cut off all protests, and waved the troll out of his hut. Sighing again, the troll left the hut.

It had been 3 weeks since Zaria's death, and Cenahria's departure. Vol'jin watched her walk away with the Night Elves every time he shut his eyes. He hadn't slept in days, and his mood was suffering for it. Thinking of Cenahria hurt, but he just couldn't help it. He missed her. The way she would tilt her head when he explained something to her. The way she would smile, shyly, each time he kissed her, how self-conscious she was around the other trolls. He smiled to himself as he remembered her laugh, before reality struck him once again and the pain of her leaving took over. Looking outside, he could see the sun beginning to set. Getting up from his chair, Vol'jin dragged himself up the stairs, before collapsing on his bed, ready to spend yet another night forcing his eyes awake, desperately trying to dispel the memory of Cenahria's kiss.

Not for the first time, Vol'jin wondered if Cenahria thought of him. If she even remembered him. A small voice in Vol'jin's head told him she didn't, that it had been easy for her to walk away from him, but, growling, Vol'jin pushed it away. It would be easy to believe she had left without caring for him, that everything had meant nothing to her. Vol'jin knew her better than that. He thought back to that day, facing off against her brother. Liacus, she had called him. Taller than her, and well-built too, Liacus had posed a formidable threat. Vol'jin had known it, and so had the elf. Cenahria had known it too. Vol'jin had seen it in her eyes, in the way she had softly brushed aside his glaive to go to her brother. He hadn't been shocked, not really. It was just like her to go against her heart to save a life. She still held the foolish notion that she owed him for saving her from Garrosh, as if she hadn't already paid that debt by literally saving Vol'jin's life.

He spent his night as he had spent every night since she had left. Allowing himself to slip into warm memories of her embrace, of evenings spent on the beach watching the sun set. These thoughts brought him comfort, and dulled the pain for a short time. It was as though Vol'jin was in a bubble, that nothing could penetrate, as long as he held the thought of her in his mind. "She would not want me to fall into self-pity. She would want me to stay strong, for da tribe." Vol'jin would tell himself. That was what got him up every morning. That thought that Cenahria would not want him to be destroyed. And so, he ignored the images of her walking away that sleep brought him, and instead replayed every moment they had spent together, every night. Tonight though, it struck him that he had never told her how he felt about her. Yes, they had spent many evenings together, curled up, watching the sun set. But nothing had progressed past kissing, and neither had ever mentioned the word 'love' or anything similar to it. The regret of this burned deeply. How like the Loa it was, to grant him this clarity, when it was too late to do anything about it.

All too soon, morning dawned. Vol'jin sat up, not wanting to go downstairs. Part of him didn't want to do anything anymore. Without warning, the sound of metal hitting metal reverberated up the stairs into his small bedroom, and Vol'jin leapt to his feet. Fighting? In the Isles? Faint shouting followed the clanging, and Vol'jin grabbed his glaive. Finally, a worthwhile distraction! However, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the shouting became clearer. The guttural roars of his tribe were familiar, but so was the soft, melodic shouts of the elven voice. He recognised that voice. That voice had accused him of being a monster, had accused him of kidnapping Cenahria. "I wish to speak to your Chieftain! I. Do. Not. Want. To. Fight. You!" Each word was punctuated by a slap of metal, and Vol'jin knew he had a choice to make. His troll spirit burned, the urge to slaughter the elf who had stolen his love from him scorching his veins. However. Liacus had been important to Cenahria. Vol'jin sighed. He could not kill her family. She would never forgive him. And anyway. His curiosity had been peaked – what possible reason could the elf have to risk his life coming here?

Moving to the door, Vol'jin paused for a moment, before placing his glaive to the side. His troll nature growled in protest, but he ignored it, before stepping outside. "Enough!" One short, barked command was all it took for his men to stand down, albeit slightly hesitantly. "Dis elf just walked right into da camp, Chieftain! He said he wanted to talk to ya, but we thought it might be an attack!" Vol'jin smiled slightly at how exhausted the elf looked. Maybe he wasn't so formidable after all. The elf had looked up when Vol'jin had exited his hut, and now straightened, eyeing him with a mixture of hatred and admiration. "Vol'jin. I wish to speak with you. Alone." Vol'jin stopped, and cocked his head. He was still unsure what he wanted to do with the elf, and with one nod, he knew he could have him killed where he stood. From the grip the elf held on his sword, he knew it too. "Ya took Cenahria, and had one of our kind killed. What makes ya think ya have anything I'd wanna hear?"

The elf's face suddenly changed, a brief look of pain crossing it. He pushed past the trolls that separated him from Vol'jin, and took a very bold step towards him. Vol'jin raised a hand, both stopping the elf from moving closer, and preventing his guards slitting his throat. "My sister is why I am here. If you wish to kill me, then go ahead. It would make her day. She hates me for bringing her home. But if you do not speak with me now, I fear you will be sentencing her to die."

There was a small gathering of trolls now, and each one gasped. Vol'jin himself struggled to keep his composure. Cenahria? Die? No. Vol'jin could not let that happen. It warmed his heart slightly as well, knowing she hated her brother for taking her away from the Isles. Nodding to the elf, Vol'jin walked back into his hut, and sat down in his chair, not bothering to see if the elf understood. The elf followed him inside, and sat in the centre of the floor, much as Cenahria had done when she had first arrived in the Isles. Vol'jin smiled at the memory. "You must be enjoying this, troll. Having an elf come here, at your mercy." There was a defiance in the elf's voice, and despite wanting to agree with him, Vol'jin knew he wouldn't be able to harm him. "Ya must be hungry, elf. Da journey from your people to da Isles is a long one. If ya wish, I can have some food and water brought in for ya." The elf looked at him in shock, before suspicion clouded his eyes. "Don't ya worry. I won't be poisoning ya food. Cenahria would never forgive me for ruining good Jungle Stew." The elf smiled then, and nodded.

Whilst they waited for food and water to be brought in, elf and troll took a few moments to study each other. He had studied the elf once before, but that had been as an enemy. Now, he had invited the elf into his hut, and was giving him food and water, as he would an equal. Liacus was taller than Cenahria, and his hair was a much lighter shade of blue, tied back into a ponytail. Vol'jin would not have been able to tell the resemblance if it was not for the eyes. Liacus' eyes bore the same inner strength and intelligence that Cenahria's had. There was a kindness to them, that the elf clearly spent a lot of time trying to hide. Liacus also bore the facial tattoos that most Night Elves had; long, glaive-shaped slashes on either side of his face. Vol'jin's assessment of the elf was cut short by the arrival of food.

Liacus sniffed the bowl suspiciously, before dipping some bread into the stew. Tasting it, his face brightened, and he hastily began to eat. Vol'jin laughed softly. He looked up, almost self-consciously. "What was it that you called this dish?" Vol'jin told him about the Jungle Stew, and how his people were famous for it. "Yes… my sister mentioned this to our family at home. She said our food just isn't the same. I have to say, I laughed at her at first but. Now that I have tasted it… I am inclined to agree with her! Please. Never tell her I said that." Vol'jin laughed, properly this time, before telling him about Cenahria's first time trying the stew. "She ate 3 bowls, and finished off da bread, before me and Thrall could finish our first! Elves are such tiny creatures, everyone in da Inn was surprised!" Sipping his water, Liacus nodded, grinning. "That's my sister. Capable of eating twice her body weight in food." Laughing together, they both looked down at the ground. It was odd, talking in this way with a mortal enemy of the trolls.

"You care for her, don't you? My sister?" Liacus' voice had grown soft, and there was something in it that Vol'jin couldn't quite make out. "Ya sister saved my life in Orgrimmar. She is kind, and caring, and intelligent. It is hard not to care for her." Liacus looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and Vol'jin blushed slightly. "You know, my sister has not spoken a word to me since we arrived back home. On our journey back, she scolded me for coming to find her. And from what I have heard from her fellow druid students, she will not hear a word against the trolls. Druids or otherwise. It seems her time spent here will not be forgotten easily." Vol'jin fought back tears, and allowed that warm feeling to encompass his heart once more. Cenahria truly had not forgotten him. He smiled again, and this time, Liacus smiled back, but sadly.

"Ya mentioned ya sister would die if we did not speak. Is Cenahria in danger?" Liacus' eyes grew dark, and as he spoke, Vol'jin's blood began to boil. "For quite some time, my people have had trouble defending our lands from an enemy which I believe we share with you, Chieftain. The Naga. We have struggled with them on our shores for many a moon, however, in recent weeks, they have begun to invade further into our territory, slaughtering my kind." Vol'jin nodded, seething quietly. He remembered that enemy all too well. "We had problems of our own with da Naga, it is true. But we beat dem back. We defeated dem. Is that why ya here? To hear how we did it?"

Liacus stood, and began pacing the hut. "Yes… and also no. As we speak, some of my people have travelled to Stormwind, to see King Varian. Our forces are depleted, we no longer have the numbers to drive the Naga back. We are hoping King Varian will lend us troops to aid us. If not… I am afraid for my sister. You know her. Cenahria, she is a healer. Her very spirit is so kind, that she cannot help herself when it comes to saving others. This is why I was angry when she killed your troll traitor. Cenahria is sweet. Too sweet for murder. Too pure for war. However, if King Varian does not give us men, Malfurion and Tyrande will be forced to use conscription to bolster our numbers. Cenahria will be forced to fight. And I do not believe she will be able to defend herself. Worse still, Cenahria knows this. And has already offered to help, in any way that she can." Vol'jin stared at the elf in shock. Cenahria could not fight, he had to agree. She was too innocent to be on a battlefield.

"But ya sister. It may be different among your kind, but she is old enough to choose which path she wishes to follow – surely she cannot be made to fight if she chooses to heal instead?" Liacus shook his head, and Vol'jin's hopes sank. "She has yet to undergo that ritual. Until it happens, she can be forced to use her skills in any way necessary. And I believe she intends to do just that. She has not given any thought to the fact that she will die. I am not entirely sure she really cares. She is not herself since I brought her home. My mother says she is homesick, but as my father says. That cannot be. She _is_ at home." Liacus threw out his arms in exasperation, and despite himself, Vol'jin found himself feeling sorry for the elf. "Ya care for ya sister, don't ya?" Liacus looked at him, tears in his eyes. "Yes. As much as you do. Although, in a very different way, I'd imagine." Vol'jin blushed again, and Liacus grinned slightly.

"What do ya want from me?" Liacus approached Vol'jin's chair, slowly, hands raised to show he meant no harm. Vol'jin waved him forward, and he knelt next to him, head bent. "I ask – I beg – that you come with me, immediately to Stormwind. If King Varian hears how your people defeated the Naga, he may be more willing to lend us men, and then Cenahria will not have to fight. And. If that fails… I believe if anyone can talk her out of killing herself on the battlefield, it would be you. Please. I know you and your kind have reason to hate my people. But Cenahria needs you." Vol'jin softly placed a hand on the elf's tiny shoulder, and Liacus raised his head, tears running down his cheeks. His voice held tremors, and his back shook with fear. The elf looked truly young in that moment, too young for a burden such as this to be on his shoulders.

Liacus stood, watching for Vol'jin's answer. He moved to stand back at the centre of the hut, patiently waiting. It did not take long. Vol'jin nodded, and Liacus smiled with such relief that Vol'jin could not help but share it. A tiny voice in the back of his mind screamed at him that what he was about to do was madness, insanity. It was suicide, to walk into Stormwind, to face the King himself. If Garrosh hears of this, he will be out for ya blood, the voice told him. Vol'jin silenced it with an internal growl. The decision was made. He didn't even have to think about it.

He would do anything to keep Cenahria safe, even if that meant betraying the Horde, and allying himself with the Elves.


	14. Chapter 14

The day that Cenahria had left the Night Elves, Cenahria had felt conflicted. Risk everything she had ever known, abandon her family, all in the pursuit of knowledge? Or remain with her kin, unhappy in herself, with a perpetuating sense that she was only a fraction of the Druid she could be. One conversation with Malfurion had decided her path. Havishna had rushed Cenahria to their lesson that evening, and she had scolded her for refusing to braid her hair. As the students had knelt with Malfurion in their nightly ritual of listening to the trees, Cenahria had refused to kneel. "Is something wrong, Cenahria?" Malfurion's voice had been soft, at first. "Why do we always meditate in the light of the moon? I have read that sunlight can grant enhanced Druidic abilities, it can even aid in healing!" Malfurion's eyes had tightened, and Havishna had whispered hurriedly for her to be quiet. Ignoring her friend, Cenahria had walked to her Mentor imploringly. "Shan'do, there is so much more we can learn – there are even other races that follow our path. Surely, we should reach out to them, share our collective knowledge? It could only make us stronger."

At that, Malfurion had stood, body shaking, backing away from her. He had raised a finger and pointed at her, as if in accusation. "You would have us welcome monsters into our ranks? Vile creatures who would sooner stab you in the back than aid us?" Her fellow students had also stood, standing either side of Malfurion, some angry, some confused but siding with their Shan'do nonetheless. "I'm simply asking why we do not share knowledge with those who follow our path, who share our vision!" Cenahria's eyes filled with tears as Havishna had slowly taken her place by Malfurion's side. "No, Cenahria. You are suggesting we befriend the Horde. That is nothing short of traitorous to our King, and to Tyrande and our Shan'do." Malfurion has placed a hand on Havishna's shoulder, and Cenahria had been forced to make her choice. "I only wish to learn…" Cenahria had begun to cry. Not one of her fellow students made any movement to comfort her, instead staring past her, as if she were one of the ethereal wisps floating between the trees. "If you wish to learn from those Horde dogs, I suggest you leave Teldrassil and seek them out. But be warned. You will not be welcome back amongst our kind." And with that, Malfurion had turned and walked away. Havishna and the others had followed.

Cenahria spent her first few weeks back in Teldrassil going over her memories of what she thought would be her final day there. After her brother's confrontation with Vol'jin, Cenahria had returned to her people. Her parents had cried with happiness that she had returned. Cenahria herself had merely allowed her body to go numb, not returning the hugs and embraces, keeping herself rigid, and unfeeling. She had been torn from the only place she had ever felt at home, torn from her love and her heart's family. She had refused absolutely to speak to anyone and had spent her time shut in her bedroom. At first, her parents had tried to get her to eat. However, the smell of food, any food, made her hurt. She would instinctively search for the familiar apple scent that would tell her Jungle Stew was coming, and the absence of it just deepened the cracks in her heart. After a while, her parents stopped trying.

Cenahria continued her Druidic training, but during the day. Despite it reminding her of Zaria, Cenahria persevered, needing to feel closer to the home, and the friends, she had lost. Whilst her people slept, Cenahria chose to wander outside, feeling the energy of the Sun, and allowing it to enhance her abilities. A short while after she had left the Isles, Cenahria had used her new abilities to grow a small patch of the white flowers that had always reminded her of Zaria, right underneath her bedroom window. Every day when she woke, Cenahria's room would be filled with their perfume, and she would spend several happy moments pretending she was still in the Isles, that Zanda would come bounding in, teasing her, before walking with her to their lessons. Cenahria constantly kept the memories of the Isles in her mind, keeping them alive. All save for one. Vol'jin kept creeping into her thoughts, and it was just too much for her to bear. Continuing her druid training served two purposes; it made her feel closer to Zanda and Zaria, it honoured Zaria's memory. But it also remained a distraction from Vol'jin. Cenahria felt fragile, as if a breeze would shatter her entirely. She was glad he was safe, that she could save his life from her brother. But she simply could not live without her Chieftain.

Several weeks following her return, Liacus appeared in Cenahria's room, and gestured for her to follow him. Whilst she had refused to talk to him, he also had ignored her, which suited her fine. Gone were the days when they would frolic as children, running through the forest, helping to tend to the animals and the sacred groves. She had been surprised, then, to find Liacus in her room, and that surprise had spurred her into following him. They walked through the trees, in silence, listening to the sounds of nature. After a while, Cenahria began to remember the familiar route, and a suspicion began to form. 10 minutes later, that suspicion was confirmed. When they were children, Liacus and Cenahria had frequently visited Lelanai, who bred the Sabres which formed the mounts for their Night Elven people. She had a small shop in Darnassus where she would sell them, but she bred them on her farm in Teldrassil. The siblings had frequently helped her raise the cubs. It had been their favourite past-time as children.

Liacus led the way to the farm, Cenahria curious as to why he would bring her back here. Lelanai opened the door, warm smile on her face, and greeted them both. As always, she led them both to the back of the house, where a small barn nestled in the trees. There was a small fenced enclosure in the front of the barn, and several cubs were playing. Part of the enclosure was shrouded in shadow, and Cenahria could sense tiny movement, but Lelanai ignored it, and left the siblings there. "I know you are angry with me for bringing you home. Truly, I did not know what had happened. Malfurion told me he had been sent word that the Horde had captured you, and I was to lead a small group to bring you back. I was told the Troll you killed was to be our guide to where you were being kept. You haven't spoken, or eaten, in weeks. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. But Lelanai asked me to visit last week, to show me the new cubs, and I think there is one you will find interesting."

Puzzled, and a little surprised at this display of understanding from her brother, Cenahria watched as Liacus moved to the shadowed part of the enclosure, scooping something up, and bringing it back to her. The cub was tiny, smaller than the rest, and a brilliant shade of blue. The cub mewed in terror as Liacus set it down, and immediately the other cubs turned on it, biting and clawing at the beast, causing it to squeal and run away. Startled by the display of aggression, Cenahria instinctively ran to where the others had chased the blue cub, and picked it up off the ground, sheltering it from the others. The other cubs viciously bit at her legs, jumping in the air to try to get to the tiny creature. The poor thing was shaking and covered in scratches and bite marks. Without a word, Liacus swiftly opened the gate, allowing Cenahria and the cub through, and shutting the other sabre cubs inside. He brought Cenahria and the cub back to the front of the house, were Lelanai was waiting. "Yes, he is a very unusual specimen. Whilst the blue is a normal shade for the spots you see on the frost sabres, I've never had a cub come out in a uniform colour before. The rest of the litter seem to pick on him because he is different, and I am afraid that if I leave him in the enclosure, they may well attack him and kill him. He is so much smaller than the rest."

Shocked, Cenahria hugged the cub tightly to her chest, and he stopped shaking. Burrowing into her, the cub snuggled into her arms, and Cenahria felt a soft warmth in her heart, as if one of the many cracks was beginning to heal. She lifted the cub, so she could study him. The blue was startling, much brighter than the usual muted darkness of the other sabres. It was a striking colour, and with a fierce jolt of electricity, Cenahria had a vision of another time when a similar blue had filled her with such wonder. That forbidden thought wound its way into her brain, and she knew she could not let a cub, whose fur so closely resembled Vol'jin, die. "I will take him, and I will keep him safe." The first words Cenahria spoke since leaving the Isles were a promise. Not to her brother, and not to the Sabre breeder. A promise to herself, and to this tiny bundle that was meant to be her salvation.

For a few days, Cenahria's world was filled with taking care of the cub. She named him Zar'jin – for both the friend and the love that she had lost. However, the memories of Vol'jin began to become too much. She started to dream of all the memories she had so desperately tried to forget, and not even the warmth of Zar'jin cuddling into her was enough to dispel the darkness. She spent her days in a bubble, caring for the cub automatically, not wanting to let any single part of her out from the iron grip she was holding herself in. The bubble was her safe place – if she kept herself in a tight enough hold, she could not fall apart.

One morning, Cenahria was awoken by the cub shoving his tiny cold nose into her face. As she pushed him away, someone shouting her name cut through the sleepy haze. Quickly, she dressed, and went outside. Malfurion and Tyrande were standing in the centre of the village. Cenahria moved quickly to where her parents, and Liacus, were waiting. "Citizens of Teldrassil. We come to you with dire news. Across the waters, in Darkshore, the Naga have begun to attack. Lordanel has tried to repel the invaders, but to no avail. They have asked that we send aid, to defeat this ancient enemy. The Darkshore forces have been pushed back, and the Naga are threatening to overwhelm them. We have come to ask for your help, for anyone willing and able to travel to Darkshore and help our fellow people defend their homes. We shall, of course, be asking King Varian Wrynn for additional aid, but this is a matter of urgency. All able bodies must go to Darkshore. We cannot let these fiends hold any part of Kalimdor."

Mutterings began to stir among the onlookers, as Tyrande produced a piece of parchment, for volunteers to sign, sealing their fate to the upcoming battle. Malfurion came to where Cenahria and her family stood. He ignored her completely, instead choosing to address her brother and parents. "Liacus, I would like you to be my emissary and travel to Stormwind to request aid from Varian. He is a good man, but I am not sure if he can spare any men to help us, or if they will arrive in time. Will you do this for me?" Not surprised by this, Cenahria tuned out Malfurion's words, instead focussing on the long line of men and women signing up. "Poor souls. I suspect many won't be coming back." Cenahria's mother whispered softly, but the words were like razors. The men and women fighting in Darkshore would be fighting a noble cause. _Dying_ for a noble cause. There was no better way to vanquish the shadows that had been choking her since she arrived back in Teldrassil. No better way to silence the memories. For good.

"I would like to volunteer for the battle." For the first time, Malfurion looked at her. She met his gaze, expecting to see anger or contempt, but instead there was surprise. "Cenahria. I am glad to see you are safely home. Whilst fighting in the battle would indeed redeem you in the eyes of the Druids, your proficiency has always been more focussed on healing, of which we already have plenty of volunteers. You simply are not skilled enough in battle. It would be suicide." Liacus' head snapped up at Malfurion's words and stared at his sister intently. Looking away from him, she refused to meet her brother's eyes. Cenahria had never been able to keep a secret from him. He continued to look at her for a moment, before nodding, almost to himself, and turning to Malfurion. "I'm sorry, Malfurion. I would be honoured to travel to Stormwind, but I am afraid something has come up. I need to leave Teldrassil immediately. Cenahria can go to Stormwind for you. She is good with people. I am sure she can make King Wrynn understand our plight." With that, he quickly departed for the hippogryphs, not even taking the time to explain where he was going to their parents.

Tyrande came over to where Cenahria was standing with her parents and shared a glance with Malfurion. "Did I hear Liacus suggest Cenahria be our emissary to Stormwind?" Malfurion nodded, confusion clouding his eyes. Tyrande laid a hand on her husband's arm and turned to face Cenahria. "I heard you volunteer for the battle. It is admirable, but my husband is right. War is not where you belong. Go to Stormwind for us. If you can get aid from the King, that will undoubtedly forgive any mistakes you may have committed in the past." Cenahria opened her mouth to argue, to say that she had just as much right to fight in this battle as anyone, desperate to lie, to make them believe she wanted to help. Malfurion silenced her with a sharp look, before telling her to prepare for the journey. "I will have one of our mages create a portal to Stormwind. The King knows we are sending an emissary. He shall be expecting you. Make haste, Cenahria. The lives of our people are at stake. You leave tomorrow morning."

The next day, Cenahria was dressed in the traditional clothes of a Night Elven emissary – Robes of a deep violet and silver enveloped her body, with the traditional symbol of her people emblazoned on her chest. A circlet of silver was also placed around her head, with a tiny crescent moon dangling against her forehead. Cenahria's mother attempted to braid her hair, but Cenahria insisted she wear it down. One look at herself in the mirror, and she felt wrong. She looked… too Elven. She barely recognised herself. She said a quick goodbye to Zar'jin, who mewled softly. Feeling uncomfortable, Cenahria walked swiftly to the portal the mages had created for her, eager to get the debacle over and done with. As she stepped through the portal, Cenahria caught a brief glimpse of Malfurion watching her.

Cenahria's first impression of Stormwind was that it was very white. She had arrived at the top of a tower, with a guide waiting at the bottom for her. As she was led through the streets, it struck her how _clean_ everything was. And quiet, compared to the bustle of Orgrimmar. Cenahria had heard so many times how the Alliance was more civilised that the Horde, that the Horde were brutes. Stormwind emphasised the contrast between the two perfectly, but Cenahria did not feel civilised. These people wanted for nothing. They had wealth, and _time_ , to construct the vast, sprawling city. There were no outdoor markets, with people selling wares to make money. The Alliance had no need for such things in their Capital. The Horde may have been many things but studying Stormwind now made Cenahria realise that at least the Horde worked for what they had. She remembered the humble and simplistic way of living Vol'jin and his people had in the Isles and felt it much more fitting of the so-called natural life the Night Elves claimed to lead. How had such contempt for the Horde arisen? They struggled constantly for their very lives. To Cenahria, they were a people that the Alliance should be helping to survive, not eradicate, given the vast resources she could see so arrogantly on display in the Capital. There was no need for the violence and hatred that permeated both factions.

Cenahria's unease at being in Stormwind grew as they reached the Keep. A gigantic statue dominated the front, with large, sweeping stairs either side. She walked quickly, no longer needing her guide. All she had to do was follow the opulence. The Keep loomed above her, and as she entered, she could see the King seated on an extravagant throne up ahead. She slowed her walk, remembering the basic etiquette her Mother had briefly explained as she had been getting ready to leave. She stopped in the centre of the throne room and failed to forget the last time she had knelt in the room of a Leader. She tightened the iron around her heart and curtsied to the King. He was a strong man, imposing, but with a kindness to his eyes. This may be easier than she thought.

"Malfurion said he would be sending an emissary. Please, tell me your name." The King's voice was deep, a rumble in the cavernous room. After telling the King her name, Cenahria briefly explained the plight of the Elves. "The Naga are threatening to overwhelm the forces already in place. Malfurion is concerned that if we lose this battle, the Naga could assault other parts of Kalimdor, perhaps even gain a hold on the continent. Many will die, unless we have aid. Assistance." Cenahria lowered her head solemnly, in an attempt to sell her despair. Raising her eyes briefly, she saw the King consider her words. "It is indeed an unfortunate situation. The battle will be going ahead in 3 days, you say? I could send a few ships, attack the Naga from the sea whilst you engage them on the beach, but it is not a lot of time to work with… What is the meaning of this?!" Startled, Cenahria heard running footsteps behind her, coming up the long corridor to the throne room. She didn't particularly care for whatever emergency the King was being interrupted for. She just wanted her answer, so she could leave. She began to plan how she would get into the battle, when a voice stopped her.

"My King, I am sorry to impose on you like this, but I do not believe your aid will be necessary." What in Elune was her brother doing here? "You better have a good reason for bringing that brute into my Keep, boy." Varian's voice was a growl, and Cenahria actually shrank back. She didn't want to look at her brother, who was once again meddling where he shouldn't. Hadn't he been the one to actually _suggest_ Cenahria do this?

"I may be a brute to ya, Wrynn, but I be da only ting that can help ya Elves, without da need for ya precious ships."

The voice who responded to Varian was the last voice Cenahria ever expected to hear. It was a voice that simultaneously ripped her apart and mended her again. It melted the iron grip around her heart and burned through her veins. As he spoke, Cenahria turned to face him, fighting the urge to go to him, to hold him and never let him go. He obviously had not recognised her from behind, so Elven were her clothes, but as she turned, the defiant expression in his eyes extinguished, to be replaced by a fire she knew had only ever burned for her.

"Vol'jin."


End file.
